


A Good Thing

by Jolli_Bean



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), But Of Course They Fall In Love For Real, Canon Compliant, Comfort Food, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Green Card Marriage, Light Case Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Top Hank Anderson, Undercover Missions, Undercover at Eden Club, wireplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 83,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/pseuds/Jolli_Bean
Summary: "You know what a green card marriage is, right?" Hank asks."Sure," Connor says, dimly amused, because Hank was sweet to come all the way up to Canada, but this is ridiculous. "Who am I marrying?"What Connor intends to say next is that he isn't that desperate, that his life here might not be what he would pick for himself but that it's also perfectly fine, until Hank pulls a little box from his pocket and opens it."I mean," Hank says, "I'm sure you have other options, but I'm offering. As your friend."~~Like so many other androids, Connor goes to Canada after the revolution. Android autonomy may have been granted, but things are still dangerous, and he doesn't want Hank to get hurt for protecting him. It was never supposed to be a permanent solution, but by early 2040, a number of legal developments have made it such that androids can only return to the states if they're marrying a citizen.Connor wants to come home. Jeff wants him back on the force. And Hank just wants him back.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 111
Kudos: 719





	1. the proposal

Hank brings Connor back to his house after...well. After the protest is over in Detroit, after the president concedes to recognize android autonomy. After everything. 

He gives him a change of clothes and Connor says something about needing to recalibrate his settings because he hasn’t entered stasis for a while when Hank is in the kitchen making himself something for lunch, since he hasn’t put anything in his stomach since breakfast yesterday. 

He comes back to find Connor asleep - in stasis? Whatever it is he does - against the back of the couch, LED cycling a calm blue.

Connor is out for another eighteen hours, until the next morning. Hank could probably wake him up if he wanted to, but he doesn’t try - there’s nothing new on the news and probably won’t be for days, and Connor looks like he could use the rest. So Hank cycles between a few news channels and some reruns of an old cop show with the tv on mute and subtitles on so he won’t disturb him, and after a few hours, when it’s starting to get dark out, he gently moves him so he’s lying curled up in the couch instead, tucked under one of Hank’s throw blankets.

Hank doesn’t know what he’s doing, exactly. He doesn’t think Connor’s neck will hurt if he sleeps on it wrong, and he’s pretty sure Connor doesn’t really get cold, either. He’s humanizing him, at least a little bit, treating him like something he knows he isn’t, but Hank fucked up a lot over the last week with him.

He fucked up, and now he’s trying to make it better, and so they have to start somewhere.

So Hank tucks a pillow under Connor’s head even though he knows Connor probably doesn’t need _that_ , either, before he goes back to bed that night. Sumo usually sleeps in the bedroom with him, but he leaves him in the living room tonight, mostly because he’s stretched out between the couch and the coffee table and Connor has his fingers tangled in his fur where his one arm is dangling off the edge.

Sumo doesn’t try to follow him when Hank doesn’t call, but of course he’s good like that.

Hank sleeps in the next morning, or he tries to - his sleep schedule is so shit because of the years of alcohol, but what can you do? - and when he does finally get up and finds Connor still asleep, he’s quiet about making breakfast and letting Sumo out, and equally quiet about sitting in the living room afterwards.

Connor is quiet about waking up, too. 

Hank doesn’t know how long Connor has been watching him by the time he notices, but eventually he looks over and finds his eyes open, even if Connor hasn’t moved otherwise.

“Hey,” he says, setting the book he was reading aside.

“Hi.” Connor’s voice is soft, a little rough with sleep. 

“You okay?”

Connor sits up - although Hank doesn’t miss the look he gives the pillow underneath his head while he does - and pushes a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have slept that long.”

“No, it’s okay. You’ve had a rough go of it.” 

Connor gives him a small smile, and after a moment’s hesitation, Hank gets up and joins him on the couch, unmuting the news channel he had on all morning.

“What’s happening?” Connor asks, idly running his fingers through Sumo’s fur. 

“Probably a lot of bureaucratic scrambling in D.C. right now while they try to figure this out, but not much as far as we know, at least right now.”

But things have a way of changing fast.

Android autonomy has been recognized. That was announced the night of Markus’ protest, in a live press conference with most of America watching, and it can’t be undone. The rest of it, though...autonomy doesn’t inherently mean labor rights, or voting rights, or representation among elected officials. It doesn’t mean any of that. 

It unfurls slowly over the next week and then two, the shape of it, a clear picture that nothing is fixed. Androids who want to stay in their existing positions as paid laborers are laid off in favor of human workers by companies bitter over the hit to their budgets. CyberLife stores close left and right, and thirium is sold at a high premium even though it’s a necessity for androids.

Hank is selfishly grateful that Connor is an advanced model and doesn’t need as much of it, but he still spends half his paycheck on a few liters of it when he finds some available.

There are riots and anti-android protests, androids run down by mobs in the street who go unprosecuted by a justice system that doesn’t _really_ care.

Markus and North go to D.C. almost immediately, and they take Simon and Josh with them. They reach out to Connor, too. Hank thinks he should go, even if he’ll miss him - right now all he can do is sit in the house because even just going outside is too dangerous, so Hank thinks it would be good for him.

But Connor politely declines and hangs up.

They don’t talk about it until that evening, when Hank cracks. “Alright,” he says. “What gives?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you want to go to D.C.? I don’t get it.”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know how you can’t see it.”

“Alright, well, pretend I’m dumber than you.”

Connor gives him a reproving glance for that. “They’re afraid of me.” 

“They’re afraid of Markus, too...” Hank starts, but Connor cuts him off.

“No. Not like they are of me. Markus and North and the others stood out there like peaceful negotiators, and I’m the one who walked through the streets at the head of an army of androids from CyberLife Tower and made the threat of war very clear. They’re afraid of all of us, but not like they are of me.”

There’s more to it than that, Hank thinks, maybe an element of Connor not feeling like he belongs with his people when he was intentionally set apart from them. Maybe that guilt for hunting them too long is still eating away at him.

He doesn’t push it either way. He sees Connor’s point. “Okay,” he says softly.

Hank finishes his dinner in silence, and afterwards, while he’s washing the dishes, Connor sits at the table and says, “I talked to Kara and Luther earlier. They say Canada is..not great, but okay. Better and safer than this.”

Hank hears him, but he pretends not to. He knows Connor can’t stay like this, locked away in a house that isn’t his, and that he deserves a life of his own.

He just...doesn’t want him to go.

But of course that’s selfish in a way Hank can’t possibly avoid, so later that night he sighs and says, “Do you...want to go to Canada?”

Connor’s smile is dull when he considers it. “Want is the wrong word. I just think it may be my best...or maybe my only option.” 

“You know it isn’t the only one. You could stay here.”

“Do you know how much those people rioting out there hate me in particular? Because they think without all those androids from CyberLife Tower forcing the president’s hand, the resistance would have gone a very different way? It won’t be a secret that I’m here forever. Eventually someone will see me, and they’ll tell the wrong person, and then they’ll do something to the house, or to you.”

Hank doesn’t actually give a shit about himself. He hasn’t in years, and that hasn’t changed overnight. But if he pushes Connor on it and tries to get him to stay, Connor will just push back. He’s stubborn that way, the same way Hank is.

And Hank knows Connor is right about the possibility, and that he can’t ask him to stay when it would be better for him in Canada. 

He just...wishes he could do better for him. He supposes that’s all.

They don’t talk about it any more that night. And in the morning, resigned, Hank says, “Do you want me to drive you?”

Connor doesn’t need to ask what he means. He just nods, and he looks as sorry for it as Hank is. 

It’s a few days before Christmas when Hank drives him to the Canadian border. Connor packs the few things he has from Hank - a few clothes Hank bought him, and the sweatshirt he lent him that Connor likes to sleep in, and a few books from his shelves that Connor read during the few weeks they were together, even though he can access everything digitally.

Hank slipped a present into Connor’s bag when he wasn’t looking, too. It’s just something small - most stores aren’t back to regular business hours yet, and shipping times are extended for almost everything with the loss of android labor. It’s just a little stuffed Saint Bernard that Hank saw at the grocery store and thought was kind of cute, especially since he knows Connor is going to miss Sumo.

Hank takes Connor as far as the border. Connor made arrangements with Kara, and a woman named Rose is supposed to meet him there and pick him up. Kara and her family are staying with Rose’s brother, and they’ve agreed to put Connor up for a while, too...at least until he can get on his feet.

Sumo rode along with them, too, so Connor leans around the passenger seat to say goodbye to him first when they get there. “Good boy,” he says softly, and Hank feels that pit in his stomach growing.

“I’m sorry,” he says when Connor looks at him, grasping his shoulder, and Connor gives him a weak smile. 

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Call or text me when you get in, okay? And if you ever need to talk, or anything. You know where to reach me.”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m more okay than I’ve been in a long time, Con.” 

And that’s true. Hank isn’t okay, but he’s better. These few weeks with Connor have made things look better.

Connor nods, looking at his hands in his lap. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, kid.” Hank grasps his shoulder. “You’ll be okay.” 

Connor reaches up to squeeze Hank’s arm. “So will you.”

Hank forces a smile and jerks his chin towards the door. “Go on, then. Get out of here.”

For a moment, Hank thinks maybe Connor will stay, tell Hank to drive them back to Detroit, even though it would be the wrong thing. There’s just enough hesitation in him that he thinks he might.

But then he goes, even if his every movement is reluctant, even if he gives Hank a last long look before going inside to customs.

Hank lets Sumo sit in the passenger seat on the drive back to Detroit, and he goes home alone. 

It’s the start of a very long fifteen months...at least for him.

But at least Connor can build something for himself in Canada, and despite the ways he feels selfish, that’s what Hank wants.

Hank is happy when Connor does, even if he’s alone. 

* * *

Connor does text him that night, well after Hank has gotten home. It's after midnight, but it was a long drive back to Rose's brother's house, and traffic at the border is still a mess with androids trying to get to Canada and humans who evacuated there during the protests trying to get home. 

Hank's phone vibrates on the coffee table between the empty beer cans he has sitting there - he got rid of all the hard liquor in the house a week back, but he kept the beer in a sort of compromise with himself, an attempt at a baby step.

"Are you still up?" Connor’s message says. 

"Yeah," Hank writes back. "Did you get there okay?"

His phone rings in his hand, and Hank picks it up when he sees Connor's number. "Hi," Connor says on the other end of the line. "We just got back."

"How is it?" Hank asks.

"I don't know. It's okay. They had a room made up for me, and I at least know Kara a little bit."

"Yeah," Hank says. He's trying to be encouraging. "That's good. It has to beat the couch."

Connor does that little huffed laugh of his. "I like your couch." He sounds insulted that Hank would suggest otherwise. 

"I know," Hank says quickly. "But this is good too, right?"

"Yeah," Connor replies, and Hank really can't tell if he means it or not. "Thank you, by the way. For the present."

"Oh, you found it. I just saw it and thought of you."

"I'm sorry I didn't get you anything." 

"Oh, god, don't be," Hank says quickly. He doesn't even know how Connor would have without being able to go anywhere, much less without a bank account.

"I wish I knew how to thank you for putting me up as long as you did," Connor says. He sounds distant, and sad. 

Hank feels sorry for him. He feels sorry that somehow Connor's only friend is some washed up bastard who once put a gun to his head and said he'd like to put him in a dumpster and light it on fire. He feels sorry that Connor is as reliant on him as he is, that Connor feels like he has to cling to him, that most humans hate him but most androids do, too, and so he's stuck with Hank.

"Hey, listen," Hank says. "There's a whole world out there. You can get a job, and your own place eventually. You'll make other friends, and you can date if you want, and when things are better, you can come back to Detroit if you still want to. You're going to be okay."

He's trying to make it up to him, all the shit he said and did wrong. He wants Connor to be okay. The best thing he can do for him right now is just to help him see that he's going to be alright.

And he is. Hank really does think he will be. Connor is charismatic and magnetic, and he might not quite know where he belongs now, but he'll make friends and build a family and a life for himself in Canada, and his few weeks with Hank will be a distant memory.

Connor misses him now, but it's difficult to imagine him missing him for long.

"Okay," Connor says softly. "Can I call you?"

"Yeah," Hank says. "Sure. Whenever you want, okay?"

"Okay," Connor says. "I should let you get to bed." 

Hank doesn't mention that he probably won't be able to get to sleep. "Yeah, I guess it is late," he says instead. "You should get some rest, too."

"I won't have to for another week," Connor says. He sounds vaguely amused, but it's a reminder that Hank really hardly knows him at all.

"Right." Hank clears his throat. "Sorry. There's a lot of shit about androids I still don't get."

"It's okay," Connor says softly. "Goodnight, Hank."

"Night, Con."

Connor does call him the next day, and the one after that, and he sounds in slightly better spirits each time. Rose's brother has a little white poodle named Pixie, and Connor and Alice take her on walks together sometimes. He's able to go into town and get a few things for his room, and Kara and Luther take him to one of the support groups established for android refugees. 

The first day Connor doesn't call Hank is so fucking bittersweet, but it's a good thing.

The calls slowly get less frequent. First it's every other day, and then every three or four, until eventually they just decide to talk every Monday night. 

A few months pass, and Connor moves out to his own place in Canada. He gets a job working security at a local college, and he has a little apartment that he shows Hank on a video call once he has it better decorated. He makes friends that he goes out with, and there's one Monday when he keeps their call brief, when he says, "Sorry, I, uh, kind of have a date."

"Oh," Hank says. "Who's the lucky girl?"

Connor scoffs at that. "I'm gay, Hank. I thought that was plainly obvious," he says, amused. "Have a good week, okay? I'll talk to you soon." 

All in all, it's gone about the way Hank said it would. Connor has a life that may not be the one he wanted, but which he seems to like well enough, and everything with Hank is...the same. He goes to work once his disciplinary suspension for assaulting Perkins ends, and he feels more motivated and less out of place there, even if he doesn't exactly stop getting disciplinary notices in his file, either. He drinks less, but he still drinks - he doesn't quite know how to stop entirely, but he guesses that's how addiction goes. 

He tries to be better, because after Connor and the revolution, he feels less cynical, but the old habits are hard to break, and of course his life is still what it is, unchanged.

Hank keeps waiting for the day when Connor just drifts away from him entirely, but it never actually comes. 

Connor is good like that. He's loyal. Hank knows he still sees Kara and Luther regularly, and that he even keeps in touch with Markus and the other Jericho leaders in D.C. He just has this way of making time for people and not letting his relationships fall away the way some other people do.

That summer, Hank sells his house. He thinks maybe it will help, moving somewhere that Cole never was - somewhere with fewer ghosts. He gives Connor the virtual tour of the new place, and Connor is as pleased as Sumo is about the yard.

Hank sits on one of the deck chairs outside with Connor on video call and Sumo chasing his ball, and it's nice. It's a good night.

He tries to date, too. A few times. Mostly women, one man. It never really goes anywhere substantial, and it doesn't even feel that good, so he stops trying.

He never tells Connor about his attempts at it. He doesn't know why. Connor never worries about telling him when he's going out with someone, but Connor is young and beautiful forever, and intensely likable. He was already charming before, when he and Hank worked together, but that's only intensified the further he gets from CyberLife's control over him.

It's not sad when he does it. 

Hank thinks about visiting him sometimes, but he worries it would be awkward now, that they'll both realize things have changed between them, that they're too different.

Connor never asks, either.

Maybe he's worried about the same thing.

Things get better in Detroit slowly, and by "better" Hank mostly just means that the riots and the violence that comes with them have mostly stopped. Occasionally news comes from Washington, D.C. that indicates Markus and the other Jericho leaders are making some slow progress. It will probably be years, decades even, before things are appropriately set to rights, if history is any indication. But at least they're moving in the right direction.

Hank stays on cases with android victims at the DPD - it's just a natural transition since he worked the deviancy cases. Occasionally Connor will ask about his work in a way that makes Hank think he might miss being partners, which would make two of them.

In November, Hank goes to rehab. He doesn't tell Connor about it - he just says he'll be away, at least for the two weeks he won't be able to make phone calls. 

He doesn't know why he doesn't tell him - Connor saw him at about his absolute fucking worst passed out on the kitchen floor, so he doesn't know why he's being precious about this. But all the same, he's ashamed - not that he's getting help, but that he needs it at all. 

Connor says, "Are you taking a trip?" when Hank says he won’t be around, and Hank feels like shit for lying to him.

"Yeah," he says. "I have some vacation time banked, so Sumo and I are going up to the lake for a few weeks. The reception up there is kind of shit."

"Oh," Connor says. "That's nice. I’m glad you’re doing that. You deserve it."

It makes Hank feel even more like shit.

Rehab sucks. Rehab sucks, and withdrawal really fucking sucks, and discovering exactly how badly he's poisoned himself over the years sucks. Hank misses his dog, and he misses Connor, and he thinks so many times that he could call him once he gets phone privileges for the last two weeks of his month of inpatient care, and he never does, and he doesn't even know why. He doesn't want to burden him with it, and he doesn't want to talk about it, but mostly he just wants to look like he has his life together in the same way Connor seems to.

But Hank thinks of Connor slapping the shit out of him that night he found him passed out on the floor, and he thinks he could use some of that, especially when rehab starts to feel a little trite.

But all the same, Hank finishes the program, and once he gets past the worst of the withdrawal symptoms, he even manages to have a reasonably good attitude about it. He feels better, and he thinks maybe this time, quitting will stick.

Aside from helping Connor in the small way he did, it's one of the few things Hank has been proud of himself for in years.

It's a few days before Christmas when he gets home, and a year since he drove Connor to the Canadian border. He mails Connor a package with a wrapped present inside - it's just a few ties printed with dog patterns, and he honestly doesn't even know if Connor still likes dogs so much a year into his deviancy, but he sends it anyway, before he can second-guess himself.

The next day, there's a box on his porch with Connor's return address. Inside, there's a bag of treats and a toy for Sumo, and a book with a title Hank doesn't recognize.

"Read this a few months ago and thought of you," Connor wrote inside the cover, and Hank realizes it's the first time he's ever seen Connor's handwriting. It's sloppier than he would have expected. "Merry Christmas, Hank." 

Hank sets it aside and calls Connor, even if it isn't their usual time. It rings long enough that he thinks Connor is sending him to voicemail, but then Connor picks up. "Hi, Hank," he says warmly. "How are you?"

He's out somewhere - it's a Saturday morning, and Hank can hear the voices around him. "I'm okay," he says. "I was just calling to say thanks - from me and Sumo."

"Oh, you got it already."

"Yeah. You, uh...you have something coming your way, too. Just something small."

"Thank you," Connor says. He sounds like he's smiling. 

"Anyway," Hank says. "I won't keep you. Have a good weekend, Con."

"Hank," Connor says before he can hang up. "Jeff emailed me the other day."

"Jeff," Hank repeats. "Jeff Fowler?"

"Yeah. He offered me a job."

Hank isn't entirely surprised by it. Jeff has been lamenting the fact that they don't have any android detectives working android victim cases for months, even going as far as to bemoan that he misses Connor.

He didn't know he was going to try to recruit him, though.

"Oh," Hank says, surprised. "I mean...is that what you want?" 

"God," Connor replies. "You don't know either, do you?"

"Know what?"

"I'm not an American citizen."

"What are you talking about? They passed that law a few months ago that recognized androids..."

"That law blocked out androids not currently living in America. It's their way of trying to keep numbers low since so many of us came to Canada when things were bad last year."

"What the fuck? You were manufactured here..."

"Can you not say 'manufactured'? I don't like that."

"Sorry. You know what I mean, though."

"Yeah," Connor says. "I know what you mean. It doesn't matter, though."

"They don't have work visas or anything?" 

"Hank," Connor says, like he does when he thinks Hank is being a little thick, "they don't really want us in the states. They don't want to make it easy for us to come home. They made a provision for marriages to American citizens, but that's it."

"Oh," Hank says softly. 

"Sorry," Connor says. "I shouldn't have told you. It's not like there's anything to be done about it."

"Is that what you want?" Hank asks. "To come back and work at the DPD?"

"What I want isn't important," Connor says, and Hank doesn't know how a whole year has gone by since he first heard Connor say that to Elijah Kamski, how so much has changed in appearances and yet so little really has.

"Connor," he says. "If you could, is that what you would want?"

"I don't know," Connor says. "I liked being a detective. I was happy. Security is okay, but I'm not _happy_. And I think Jeff is right that you could use an android."

"Yeah. I think he is, too."

Hank hears Connor talking to someone else, and then he says, "Sorry, I'm with Kara and Luther. I have to go."

"Oh. Okay." Hank swallows thickly. "Bye, Connor." 

"Merry Christmas, Hank."

Hank still thinks Connor is doing okay, and probably better than him. But maybe there are ways his life is fractured too that he's also been trying to hide.

When Hank goes into work the next day - late, but not as late as he usually was last year - he stops by Jeff's office. "Hey," he says when he steps inside. "Are you really trying to get Connor back?"

"Oh," Jeff says. "Yeah, but...it doesn't look like it's going to work out." 

"Yeah," Hank says. "I heard."

"I didn't realize you two still talked that much."

Hank shrugs. "We don't, really. He just sent me something for Christmas, and it came up when I called to thank him.”

"He said he was working security up there."

"Yeah. At some college." 

Jeff shakes his head, distaste written across his face. "He was a good detective," he says, "and he made you better, too. What a waste."

He was. And it is.

Which is why it surprises Hank that it doesn't occur to him until so much later, until after New Year's has past - a day Connor always spends with his friends and Hank always spends either at work or alone.

It surprises him because Connor deserves to be where he wants to be, doing what he wants to do, and because Connor even told him it wasn't impossible for him to come home. 

There's a path open to him, even if it is an unconventional one.

And Hank is divorced. He just bought a house with a second bedroom that he doesn't really have any use for, so he has the space.

So...there's a way. Maybe. Hank has no idea if it's one Connor would be remotely interested in, or if he wants this badly enough to do something a little desperate like that, but it wouldn't be the first green card marriage in history. People do what they have to do, and they always have.

It's just starting to feel viable when Hank thinks too hard about asking Connor if he wants to do it, if he wants to get married, and his resolve crumbles, because of course he's not going to do that, not when Connor looks the way he does and goes out with his similarly young and gorgeous dates, when he calls Hank regularly as a courtesy, or out of some kind of sentimentality for their few weeks together more than a year ago.

Hank is almost feeling stupid enough that he wants to drink for the first time in weeks just to down some of that shame, but there hasn’t been any alcohol in the house since rehab, so he just goes to bed. 

The trouble is that the thought doesn't quite leave him in the morning.

Maybe he feels bad for Connor, or maybe he thinks the DPD could really benefit from him, or maybe he's just still trying to atone for some of the shit he said and did to him last November. Whatever it is, he's still thinking about it.

So Hank spends the next evening doing some research into it, enough to know that they would have to file two months in advance of the wedding, and go through an interview process about their marriage afterwards, but that then Connor would be eligible to work in the states on his conditional resident status.

They would have to live together and be married for three years before Connor could become a full citizen on his own and they could get divorced. It's a long time. It doesn't deter Hank, but it might be too long for Connor...if he even wants to come back to Detroit this badly at all. 

Hank is too deep to stop now. He pokes his head into Jeff's office as he's leaving the next day and says, "Hey. Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah. Come in."

Hank waits until the door is shut behind him, and then he says, "How serious were you about wanting Connor back?" 

"Uh. I mean, I'd like him back, yeah."

"I'm going to say something, and you're going to think I'm full of shit, but I'm serious."

"Okay..."

"If Connor and I were married, would you be able to work around that to have both of us on payroll?"

Jeff looks like he only just manages not to spit out his coffee. "Fucking _what_ , Hank?"

Hank shrugs. "You know there's only one way we get him back on the force."

"Jesus." Fowler scrubs a hand over his face. "You're not serious."

"I already told you I am. Just humor me, okay? Could you work around it with HR?"

Jeff sighs. "He couldn't report to you, and he couldn't be your partner - which frankly is a third of his appeal, the way he keeps you in line, but oh well, _I guess_ \- but I could make an exception to keep you both on android crimes since the cases are highly specialized and expertise is hard to come by."

"So you would allow it." 

"I guess," Jeff says. "What are you going to do, go pop the question?"

"No," Hank says, but talking to Connor is really all that's left.

Jeff looks like he doesn't believe him. "Look," he says. "I get it, but shit like this is messy, and I don't want you to get hurt." 

"Thanks, Jeff," Hank says, because Jeff is a good friend, and he doesn't know how to tell him that he doesn't really care what happens to himself here. He has the space sitting unused in his house, and he can either spend these three years alone or doing something for someone who deserves it. And yes, at the end of it, he'll be alone again...but he knows how to be alone. He can manage.

At some point in the last two days, he's become committed to this. All that's left, Hank supposes, is to see how badly Connor wants to come home.

They're supposed to talk that evening, so Hank figures he'll try to feel Connor out and use that as the guiding light for what he does here. And if Connor does want the job...well. Hank wants to do better for him than getting engaged over the phone. 

He sits by his phone for half the night, mostly just because he's anxious and doesn't know what else to do with himself. He worries that since he and Connor just talked over the weekend, Connor will have made plans tonight, that he'll get a text from him asking if they can just talk next week.

He cycles through all the same thoughts about how stupid this feels in the time he's sitting there, but the thing that feels truest is that he thinks it would be nice to have Connor back here again. He thinks Jeff is onto something, that Connor is good for him. 

So there's a chance this is still a little selfish, maybe. But if it's good for both of them in its own way, what difference does that make?

So Hank sits by his phone, and he waits, and he knows he could still go back on this, but he also knows he won’t.

* * *

Connor knows Hank thinks he's doing okay - and he is, he supposes, all things considered. His job is boring and does absolutely nothing to stimulate him, but it isn't bad. Kara, Luther, and Alice have been something like a stand-in family for him in the absence of any other, and he's made other friends.

He knows he shouldn't complain, and he knows Hank wants him to be doing well, so he bites his tongue about it.

But sometime after the tenth date with a new stranger who picked him up online that he already knew wasn’t going to go any further, Connor realized that he's trying to stimulate all the tendencies in him that are dormant without the work he's designed to do by dating, that a night out with someone new gives him a nice little puzzle to neatly solve. It's never taken him longer than a night to figure someone out, because most people are inherently boring to him, especially the android fetishists who try to connect with him in the first place.

(He realizes it makes him sound like shit to say he treats every single night out like an interrogation, a suspect he can put away, but Connor isn't too precious to admit, at least to himself, that's what he's doing.)

He's usually pretty good at putting on some semblance of a happy face when he talks to Hank, but that's mostly why the email from Jeff Fowler got under his skin as much as it did. 

There are parts of Canada he would be sorry to leave, Kara and Luther highest among them, but going back to the DPD to work their android victims unit investigations would suit him. It would give him work he liked, and that mattered, and it would put him back with Hank - Connor already knew last November that Hank was one of his favorite people, but now he has the distance and the experience to say it with more certainty.

He would call Hank more often if he didn't want to look too clingy, and if he wasn't worried that Hank won't like the person he's developed into nearly as much.

Connor calls Hank at eight that evening, on the dot, the way he always does. He can usually tell when Hank has been waiting by the phone, and he's reasonably sure he has been tonight. It warms him the smallest bit, especially after a difficult weekend thinking about Jeff's email and all the ways his life isn't really what he might like it to be.

"Hey," Hank says on the other end of the line, and Connor sighs, sinking back into the couch in his studio apartment.

"Hi," he says. "How are you?"

"I'm okay." 

Connor twists to lie back on the couch. "Are you? You sound distracted or something."

"Just had a long day," Hank says. "Jeff was talking about wanting you back on the force."

Connor furrows his brow. "I told him why I can't take the job." 

"No, I know," Hank says. "He gets it. He just...kind of misses having you around. And I do, too. We're feeling sentimental about it, I guess."

"You should stop that, probably," Connor says, and it's meant to be a joke, but he's not sure it comes across. 

"Yeah," Hank says. "Sorry. I'm not trying to keep bringing it up."

"No, it's okay. There's just not much point in talking about it, you know? It is what it is."

"Yeah," Hank says again. He's quiet for a moment, long enough that Connor is about to change the subject, but then he says, "Hey. If you could come back, I would want you to. I miss working with you. I just...I don't know. Want you to know that, I guess."

He's being weird, but Connor can't quite place his finger on exactly why that might be. "I would want to, too," he says softly. "I liked working with you." 

He'll see later how Hank pinned him down there, how he moved so expertly and yet seemed so unassuming that Connor never saw it beyond thinking something was just a little off.

Connor doesn't like talking about what he wants, especially when the things he wants are things he can't have. Hank already asked him what he wanted once, and Connor deflected it - he said that what he wanted isn't important, and that he thinks Jeff is right about needing an android on the force, and that he was happy with the DPD, but never outright that he wants the job now. 

"Listen," Hank says. "I was thinking, and...it's been a while. Since I saw you."

"You know your phone has video calls, don't you?"

Hank huffs a laugh at that. "That's not what I mean, smartass. What if I came up and visited you this weekend?" 

"Oh," Connor says, surprised. "Do you...want to?"

"Yeah. It's been a while since I went anywhere, and Canada's border hasn't been such a shitshow to get across in months. So...I don't know. It seems like a good time, I guess. If you're free and you want to." 

Connor isn't free, but he doesn't mention that. He can call off his weekend shift tomorrow - he's never missed work, and his boss likes him. "Okay," he says, smiling a little. "Sure."

"Is there somewhere you like going? I'd offer to take you somewhere nice for dinner, but..." 

Connor wouldn't mind going to a restaurant with him, even though there's not much more he can do than take a few sips of a drink, but he appreciates the offer. "We can get dinner," he says. "You'll need to eat. There's a park downtown I like if you want to walk around afterwards." 

"Cool," Hank says. "How about Saturday night? I'll pick you up."

"Okay." Connor bites the inside of his cheek around his smile. "I'd like that."

"Me too.”

"You're not going to tell me you're dying or anything, are you?" Connor asks skeptically, and Hank laughs. 

"No."

"I'm just trying to figure out why you're suggesting this now. It's been...a long time."

"I know," Hank says. "Like I said. I guess I'm just feeling sentimental."

And Connor doesn't get it yet, but he certainly won't complain.

They talk about the same sort of things they always do after that, about Hank's caseload and the book Connor read that week, until Hank says he should go, that he has some things to get done before bed.

"Okay," Connor says when he does. "I'll see you Saturday?" 

"Yeah," Hank says. "I'll try to get there around five, if that's okay? That will give us a few hours before I have to drive home."

"Okay," Connor replies. "I'm looking forward to seeing you."

"Me too," Hank says. "Night, Connor."

"Night."

Connor still thinks there's a reason for this, even if he isn't sure what it might be. It's almost a six hour drive between them, so it isn't like it's _easy_ for them to see each other, but they could have before now. They haven't, because...well, Connor doesn't quite know why. 

He kept waiting for Hank to suggest it at the beginning, but he never did, and Connor took that as indication enough that Hank was kind of hoping he might leave him behind and build his own life in Canada, so that was what he tried in earnest to do. 

And suddenly enough time had passed that maybe neither of them knew how to ask.

It's sort of sad when Connor thinks about it too long, so he doesn't. Instead, he occupies himself with trying to figure out what the catalyst for all of this is, even if he's no closer come morning.

The days pass slowly, and with no more contact from Hank than Connor ever gets, but on Saturday morning, Hank texts him. It's 7 am - Connor can picture Hank putting his coffee on while he watches Sumo in the yard, if that's even his morning routine anymore. 

"Hey," it says. "I thought we could go here for dinner - is that okay?"

The link Hank included is for Bricco, which is an Italian restaurant downtown, and also the most expensive within fifty miles. Hank probably doesn’t realize that. "You're going to need reservations," Connor writes back, "and a suit. I think they have a dress code."

"Yep, already done," is all Hank writes back, which leaves Connor staring at the message thread with him for a solid minute, uncharacteristically baffled, LED spinning yellow.

"What's the occasion?" he finally asks. 

"I can't take you somewhere nice?" Hank replies. "I mean, I know you can't eat, but there's the atmosphere, or whatever."

"That's where guys take me when they want me to put out," Connor starts to write back, although he thinks better of it and deletes it without sending it. 

"You're being weird," he says instead, which maybe isn't much better, and which also maybe isn't fair. The Hank Anderson he knew during their few weeks together wasn't one for fancy restaurants, but he only talks to Hank for a short time each week. How does he know this is even out of character for him?

"Sorry," Connor writes before Hank can reply. "I didn't mean it like that. I just wasn't expecting this. I thought we'd go to the burger place down the block or something."

Hank sends him a shrugging emoji back, which Connor hates, because it doesn't help him interpret anything. "See you at five," Hank's next reply says. "Wear something nice."

"YOU wear something nice," Connor writes back, which isn't particularly mature _or_ clever, but he's having trouble processing all of this, so it's what Hank gets. 

Hank doesn't text him again, and Connor spends the rest of the day frustrated and unable to focus, the minutes crawling past even slower than they usually seem to, because something is happening here, and he just doesn't see what it is.

Connor has exactly one suit - he has a uniform for work and rarely has a personal reason to dress up beyond a button up and a nice pair of jeans - but at least that removes any anxiety about what he should wear. He puts the grey jacket on over his green and white checked shirt later that night, and then he fusses with his hair in the mirror, even though it never does anything different than this.

He's sitting on the couch not even trying to read or watch something when his doorbell rings that evening, and Connor doesn't know why he gets up and straightens his tie and his hair one more time before he opens it, except that at least his appearance is something he can control here since he still can't figure out what's going on.

When Connor does get the door, Hank is leaning against the frame, and he both looks better and healthier than he did when Connor last saw him and just _good_ in general, in comparison to anyone and not just his past self.

"Hey," Hank says, straightening up when Connor opens the door.

Connor smiles. "Hi."

There's an awkward pause before Hank says, "Ah, hell. Come here," and pulls Connor into his arms. 

And it's simple enough to fall back into the way things used to be, maybe, because Connor folds into him easily. "It's good to see you," Connor says into his shoulder.

"Yeah. Sorry it took this long." 

"It's okay," Connor whispers. "I get it." 

Hank pulls away from him and squeezes his arms while he looks him over. "You look nice."

"You look pretty presentable yourself," Connor says, nudging him jokingly. "You ready to go?"

"What, I don't get to see your place?"

Connor opens the door a little wider so Hank can see the small, single room he lives in. He's not ashamed of it, but he also doesn't feel any kind of particular attachment to it, and there isn't much inside to show. "Would you like the tour?" he asks, deadpan, although it gets a smile out of Hank anyway.

"Let's go," Hank says, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder and guiding him out of the apartment.

Hank's car is the same, and Hank's music is the same, although it's at a much more reasonable volume when he turns the key in the ignition. Connor glances around, taking his surroundings in, but he waits until they've pulled out of the lot to make a show of narrowing his eyes and studying Hank like he's reading him.

"We're celebrating you getting promoted," he guesses, and Hank laughs outright at that.

"Work is going better, but not _that_ much better." 

"Okay," Connor says, "then you're retiring."

"Don't have the savings," Hank says. He's nervous, Connor thinks, but he's also the smallest bit amused by this.

Connor huffs a frustrated sigh. "We're celebrating _something_."

"We're celebrating seeing each other," Hank says. 

Which is sweet, but it also isn't the truth.

"Alright," Connor says, drawing the word out in a way that indicates he doesn't believe him.

"You haven't changed.” Hank sounds pleased by that, and Connor smiles. “I kind of forgot what this felt like."

"What's that?" 

"Being around you when you're trying to figure something out."

Connor elbows him. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not."

"No, it's good," Hank says. He hesitates and then adds, "I just don't think we should talk about it in the car, you know?" 

"So there is something."

"Yeah, you got me," Hank says. "Now stop guessing. We'll talk about it at the restaurant."

Connor is quiet for a moment, and then he says, "A good thing?"

"Damn it, Connor," Hank laughs. "Just a serious thing, okay?"

Connor is still frustrated by the mystery, but the promise that they'll talk about it soon at least quiets his curiosity. "Okay," he says, settling back in his seat. "Nothing's wrong, right?"

"No," Hank says. "Nothing's wrong. We just need to talk about something." 

"Okay," Connor says, and he does force himself to stop asking questions the rest of the ride there, even if they're still swirling around in his mind.

The restaurant is as busy as it ever is on a Saturday night, but Hank has a quiet table in one of the corners of the serving area, and it feels private in spite of the crowd. Connor wonders if Hank requested that. He wonders a lot of things while he forces himself to ask about none of them as Hank looks over the menu.

He's distracted enough by his racing mind that he hasn't looked over the wine list when their waiter returns - Connor usually tries to try something new, since it's the only part of dining out he can experience, but he ends up saying, "Just a chardonnay, please."

"I didn't know you could drink," Hank says when the waiter takes their menus. 

"I didn't either last year," Connor says. "I'll spare you the details about how my insides work, but I can divert it to the receptacle that's usually used for crime scene samples, and then it's relatively safe. I don't get drunk on it, obviously, but at least I can taste it." 

"Huh," Hank says, and Connor nudges his calf with the toe of his shoe under the table.

"Talk," he says, and Hank rolls his eyes with a laugh.

"Okay. You want to come back to work at the DPD."

Connor furrows his brow. "I can't. You know that." He doesn't think Hank is trying to be cruel, but it feels cruel to bring it up again all the same.

Hank ignores him. "Jeff wants you to come back. And I want you back."

"Okay..." Connor says pointedly. "But I can't."

"You're a good detective. A hell of a good detective. And you have a perspective we badly need."

"I don't know what your point is, Hank."

Hank is fussing with something in his pocket, but Connor can't tell what it is. "I think there's a way you could. And I understand if it's not something you want to do, or if it's not worth it to you, but I figured...I don't know. I felt like I owed it to you to come up here and at least talk to you about it."

Connor raises an eyebrow pointedly, and Hank sighs and says, "You know what a green card marriage is, right?" 

Connor crosses his arms over his chest. "Sure," he says, dimly amused, because Hank was sweet to come up here, but this is ridiculous. "Who am I marrying?"

What Connor intends to say next is that he isn't _that_ desperate, that his life here might not be what he would pick for himself but that it's also perfectly fine, until Hank pulls a little box from his pocket and opens it.

"I mean," he says, "I'm sure you have other options, but I'm offering. As your friend."

"Hank," Connor says, and he's not even sure what he's trying to convey through his name, just knows the ring in the box punches it out of him, because Hank is _serious_. 

"I get it if it's too weird," Hank says, "but I have the second bedroom now that could be yours, and I thought we lived together alright before."

"That was for a few weeks," Connor says, "and I was a refugee, not your roommate."

"I know," Hank says, shrugging. "But I still think we'd do okay. And then after three years, you can get your citizenship, and we can get divorced, and you'll be able to do whatever you want in the states."

Connor knows he's barely looked away from the ring, and that his LED is spinning red, but he doesn't know how to control either of those things right now. "We couldn't even work together if we're married," he says.

"We could. I talked to Fowler. There are loopholes we can use to work around it, and he’s on board." 

Connor pushes his hair out of his face and finally looks up to meet Hank's eyes. He looks so earnest that it breaks Connor's heart the smallest bit. "Shit," he says. "You mean it, don’t you?"

"Yeah. I really do."

" _Why?_ " Connor asks. "Don't take this the wrong way, but we talk for less than an hour once a week. It's not like we've even been _that_ involved in each other's lives the last year."

"I know," Hank says. "I'm kind of shit at long-distance relationships, but that doesn't mean you're not important to me, or that I wouldn't be happy to help you with something like this."

Connor opens his mouth and then closes it, because what he was going to say is, "I didn't know I mattered that much to you still."

It's true, but...he doesn't think it's the right thing to say right now. 

"You're really serious?" he asks instead, and Hank smiles a bit and nods.

"Yeah. But you can say no. I'm not going to be hurt."

"We'd have to pretend to be married. You're going to pretend to be married to me?"

Hank shrugs. "I was undercover for years on the red ice case. I'm good at pretending. And it's not like I'm doing anything else with those three years, either by myself or with anyone else."

Connor doesn't know what to say or do, or even how to feel. He's torn, and overwhelmed, and confused, even if at the heart of it, he's touched, too.

When he finally manages to muster the capacity for words, he reaches across the table to squeeze Hank's arm. "This means a lot to me," he says softly. "Really. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever tried to do for me. Can I just...can I think about it? For a few days?" 

"Yeah," Hank says. "Of course you can."

Connor squeezes his arm again, mouth turning up in a smile. "I like the ring," he says, which earns him a little laugh.

"Yeah?”

"Yeah." He can mostly just tell that Hank put a lot of thought into it, into what he might like, and that's touching, too. He leans across the table and kisses Hank's cheek. "You're sweet," he says softly.

"I'm not really trying to be sweet," Hank says. "I just have some shit to make up to you still, I think."

"No," Connor says. "You don't."

“Well, we can agree to disagree on that. The point is that it would make me feel better about some things if I could help you now.”

Connor doesn’t argue with him - Hank is stubborn about his guilt, and there’s a time and a place to try to dissuade him from it. He doesn’t think this is it.

The server returns with their drinks, and Connor thanks him without looking away from Hank. “You’re not drinking,” he says, mostly because he was too distracted when they were ordering to notice it then.

Hank retrieves his water and says, “I haven’t in months.” 

“At all?” Connor doesn’t mean to sound surprised - he knew Hank was trying to quit. But he also knew he was struggling to break the habit, and he just assumed.

“At all,” Hank says. “I went through rehab back in November. Last week was two months clean.” 

“No shit.” Connor lightly kicks Hank’s foot under the table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t something I felt good about at the time.”

Connor fakes a pout at that. “I would have liked to tell you I was proud of you.”

“Sorry,” Hank props his chin in his hand and smiles. “It still means something now, if that helps.”

“Then I’m proud of you,” Connor says. “Really.”

“Thanks,” Hank says. “It just...I don’t know. It got to the point where I couldn’t live like that anymore.”

Connor grasps Hank’s arm again, and while he hasn’t felt as close to Hank as he did during those few weeks in 2038 since he left Detroit, it feels like some hint of how they used to be.

They don’t talk about the marriage idea or Connor returning to work for the DPD again through dinner. They talk about Sumo, and about Hank’s work, and about Kara and Luther and Alice, and about the recipes Connor has learned how to cook for his few human friends - Connor knows Hank probably doesn’t stop thinking about why he really came here any more than Connor does, but it’s nice all the same.

It’s nice to realize that some of his fears about them not slotting together as easily as they did in 2038 were unfounded.

After dinner, they walk through the park downtown, and if it reminds either of them of the night Hank threatened to kill Connor, they don’t mention it.

Instead, because Connor is realizing that he can still tell when Hank is caught on some harmful thought, and because he doesn’t want to think about that night either, he says, “Are you really going to be okay with telling the force we’re married?” 

“Because you’re an android?” Hank asks, and Connor smiles thinly.

“Because I’m a man.”

“Are you...asking if I’m going to be ashamed of you?”

Connor is asking exactly that, he supposes, but he just shrugs. 

“I came out during academy, Con, and I’ve been out since then,” Hank says when he doesn’t answer. “And I’m too old to care about shit like that. Jeff and Chris are cool, and almost everyone else there is an idiot or an asshole, so...not worth the energy whether they care or not. I’m used to people talking shit about something.”

Connor wouldn’t believe most people using that deflection, but Hank _is_ remarkably good at not letting things stick to him.

Hank looks over at him. “Would _you_ be ashamed of _me_?”

“No,” Connor says, resolute, because he hears the real concern there, even if Hank is just echoing his question.

Either way, it seems like maybe it puts both of them more at ease.

A few minutes later, Hank checks the time on his phone and says, “I should probably get started back.”

He already won’t be home until two in the morning, so Connor can’t argue, even if he might like to. Three hours felt like plenty of time when they were planning this - it’s longer than he’s talked to Hank for any one period of time since he left Detroit, after all - but now he thinks it was painfully short.

When they get back to Connor’s apartment, Hank walks him upstairs to his floor. As they stand outside Connor’s door, Hank clears his throat and says, “Let me know what you decide, okay? I’m in if you are.”

“Okay.” Connor wraps his arms around Hank’s shoulders and kisses his cheek. “Thank you. I mean it.”

Hank squeezes his arm as they part. “Night, Con.”

“Drive safe.”

Connor watches him go before he digs his keys from his pocket and lets himself inside. He flips the lights on, and maybe it’s just because he’s thinking about it harder than he usually does tonight, but he’s struck all at once how getting back to his apartment never feels like coming home.

He always feels it, but now it’s a pang in the gut. 

He looks across the room at the little stuffed Saint Bernard on his bookshelf, the one Hank slipped into his bag when he left Detroit a year ago, and he doesn’t even realize he’s made the decision before he’s turning and hurrying back down the stairs, leaving his apartment door hanging open behind him as he hurries to catch up.

Connor doesn’t see Hank below him until he’s looking down on the lobby from the flight above, watching Hank stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walks toward the door. 

“Hank!” he calls after him.

Hank turns, looking back at Connor as he descends the last of the steps. “Did I forget something?” he asks, confused, when Connor reaches him.

“No,” Connor says. “I’m in, too.”

Hank looks him over. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I want to go home.”

Hank is grinning when he pulls Connor into his arms, and Connor feels his own smile widening on his face. “Okay,” he says softly. “Then let’s do it.”

Connor still doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he nods against Hank’s shoulder and whispers, “Okay.”

"Do you, uh," Hank asks, a little awkwardly, as they part. "Do you want this?" He reaches into his pocket for the ring he brought with him. "It's okay if you don't until the wedding.”

Connor takes the little box from him and opens it, looking at the ring again, the tungsten band with the walnut inlay, simple but interesting. "You came all the way up here to propose to me. I think the least I can do is wear the ring." Connor likes the weight and texture of it as he slips it onto his finger. "How did you know my size?"

"I, uh. Kind of looked up your specifications." 

"Hm." Spinning the ring gives Connor a way to fidget with his hands without retrieving his coin from his pockets, and he finds that he likes that. "I'm sorry I don't have one for you. I'll fix that."

"Oh, god, you don't have to," Hank says. "I don't want you to spend any of your money on this. I can get one before we tie the knot, or whatever."

"There's no fun in that," Connor says dismissively. "Come on. Who knows when I'll get married again? Let me do it the right way."

"Okay," Hank says. "But that's it, alright? I'll get the rest of it." 

"Okay," Connor agrees. He spins the ring on his finger without thinking. "How do we make this happen?"

"Jeff knows about all of this, so if you want to email him and let him know you want the job, I can look into dates?"

"Wedding dates," Connor says, not because he doesn't understand Hank’s meaning, but just because he's trying to acclimate himself to the reality of it.

"Yeah."

Connor smiles. "Weird."

"Yeah," Hank says with a laugh. "I should probably come up here one more time so we can get our story in order before we have to go through the interview with immigration services. We can plan the rest of it from where we are."

"Okay," Connor says. "You should bring Sumo next time so you can stay longer than a few hours."

Hank looks around the lobby. "Are you allowed to have pets here?"

"No." Connor gives Hank's tie a playful tug. "What are they going to do, evict me? I'm moving out anyway."

"Yeah, I guess you are." Hank grasps his shoulder. "I should get going. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," Connor says. "I'll see you soon, I guess." 

"I guess so." Hank gives him that same soft smile he did when Connor met him outside Chicken Feed after the protests, and Connor wonders how he didn't realize until now that he misses the very particular fondness Hank has for him. He has other friends, other people who care about him, but Hank was so influential in his life at such a pivotal time that it just feels different when it comes from him, even after all this time.

"Have a good night, Con," Hank says as he turns to go.

"Bye, husband," Connor says cheerfully, and it gets a laugh out of both of them as Hank leaves - not really because it's a joke to either of them, but just because there's a certain mirth in all of this that feels good.

As Connor walks back up the stairs to his apartment, he emails Jeff. "Hi, Captain," he writes. "I misspoke when we talked before - I'd like to come work for you. Do you still have a place for me on your force?"

Jeff's reply doesn't come until morning, and when it does, it just says, "I guess Hank knew what he was doing. Let's talk when you have everything in order, but yeah. Welcome to the team, Detective." 

"Thank you, Captain," Connor writes back. "I'll be in touch."

He gets ready for work, and though he's felt claustrophobic and stagnant for the last year, this morning he finds that things don't feel so bad at all. 

* * *

Hank hasn’t even sat down at his desk when he gets to work the next morning before Jeff is coming out of his office and yelling, “Hey! My office,” at him.

Well, Hank knew it wasn’t going to go unacknowledged. He gets up and follows him in, and once the door is shut, he says, “I told you I was going to do it.”

Jeff ignores him. “You are the craziest ass motherfucker I’ve ever met. Every time I think you can’t possibly find a way to top yourself, goddamn it, you find a way to top yourself. I thought when you decked a federal agent that you had _finally_ peaked and I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much, but here you are, doing the next crazy ass motherfucker thing.”

Hank, despite himself, finds all of this vaguely amusing, if only because he knows Jeff is going to come around the way he always does. 

He only just manages to keep a straight face when he says, “So you _don’t_ want to congratulate me on my engagement, then?”

“Do you have _any_ idea how much I worry about you? Any at all?”

Hank blinks. “I take it you don’t want to thank me for getting the detective you wanted to recruit, either.”

“I’m glad _you_ think this is funny.”

Hank shrugs. “I told you already that I don’t know what you’re worried about. Connor and I are friends. It’ll be like having a roommate for three years. No big deal.”

“Do you really not know...” Jeff starts, but then he stops himself. “You’re right,” he says when he collects himself and tries again. “It’s not my business. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you were _actually_ going to do it, but you did tell me, so I guess I can’t be pissed”

Hank feels the smallest bit sorry for ribbing him. “It’s okay,” he says, letting the edge fall away from his voice. “I was actually going to invite you and Kerri to the wedding, if that’s any consolation.”

“Because you need to make it look real?” Jeff asks, although the heat in his tone is mostly gone, too.

“Well, yeah,” Hank concedes, “but also because you’re my oldest friend.”

“That’s because I’m the only one who could put up with your bullshit this long,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly. “You and Connor have a date yet?”

“First or second week of March, I think.”

“That’s soon.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Hank.”

“I always know what I’m doing,” Hank says. “Come on. I thought you would be happy about having Connor on the force.”

Jeff lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I am.”

“I am, too,” Hank says. “Let’s focus on that.”

He gets up and leaves without asking Jeff what he was going to say, where the question, “Do you really not know...” was going to end up, but he also thinks his worries are unfounded, even if he understands and appreciates them.

Hank spends most of the work day thinking about how nice it will be to have Connor back on these cases with him, especially now that he’s free of his CyberLife directives, and most of the evening waiting for Connor to get off work so he can call him. He works until eleven that night, but Hank waits up.

Connor gets to him first, though, at 11:02 pm. “Hey,” Hank says when he picks up the phone. “I was just going to call you.”

“Were you?” Connor is smiling - Hank can tell. “Do you have some dates for my consideration?”

“How’s March 6th? I thought we could do it at some park somewhere, and then have a little reception at a restaurant with Jeff and his wife, and Kara, Luther, and Alice, if you wanted. We need some guests there so it looks more authentic when immigration goes through our photos.”

Connor is quiet for a moment, and the teasing lilt is gone from his voice, but not the smile, when he says, “Yeah. I can marry you on March 6th.”

Hank lies back on his couch, tucking his arm under his head. “Okay,” he says. “Then...it’s a date.”

“Can I pick the place?”

“Do you have somewhere you want to do it?”

“I think so,” Connor says, but he doesn’t say any more than that.

“Okay,” Hank says. “I was thinking Sumo and I could come back up and see you the Saturday after next - we can go through the paperwork together so I can file it, and we can go shopping then, too.”

“Shopping.”

“For suits, yeah.” 

The teasing note is back in Connor’s voice when he says, “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

And Hank is maybe teasing him back a little bit when he says, “Just trying to give you the best, baby. I know you’re worth a small fortune.”

Connor laughs outright at that. It’s actually the most Hank has heard him laugh in a while...but of course they don’t really talk that much, even if Hank does talk to him more than he talks to most people.

“Smooth,” Connor says, amused. “Yeah. That weekend works.”

Two weeks pass, and that Saturday, Hank loads Sumo into the car first thing in the morning and makes the long drive back up to Connor’s apartment in Canada. He's booked a photographer and an officiant, and he's finished most of their paperwork and just needs some signatures from Connor, and his maintenance records. 

He's been busy enough that he wonders when this is going to feel like a real thing they're doing, because it hasn't since Connor chased him down in the apartment lobby. If he thinks too hard about marrying Connor, he can see why Jeff thinks he's insane. 

But they're in this. And they're doing it.

A little after noon, after stopping for lunch so he won't bore Connor with that, Hank does the best he can to sneak Sumo up to Connor's apartment - only a successful endeavor because there's no one at the front desk. 

Connor gets the door the moment Hank knocks, like he was waiting there, pulling him inside and dropping to his knees to greet Sumo as soon as the door closes.

"Hi, bud," he says, ruffling Sumo's collar. "You remember me?"

Sumo does remember him. Hank doesn't know if Connor can tell, but he can.

"I like your bowtie," Connor says, taking the green plaid bow on Sumo's collar and studying it. "You're so handsome."

Sumo doesn't know what he's saying, but he does know he's excited about it, and Connor laughs when he tries to bowl him over and lick his face.

"You didn't want me to bring him so I could stay longer," Hank says, nudging Connor's shoe with his. "You just wanted to see him."

"A bit of both," Connor laughs, reaching for Hank's arm and using it to help himself up. "Hi." 

"Hey." Hank hugs him, because it seems like the thing to do.

Connor has the warmest smile when he wants to, and it's there when they part. "Do you need lunch? I can cook."

"I stopped somewhere," Hank says. "You can cook?"

Connor swats at him. "I told you I cook sometimes." 

"Dinner, then.”

"Okay." Connor reaches for the file of paperwork Hank is holding and takes it from him, thumbing through it. "I have my maintenance records for you."

"I'm sorry you need them," Hank says. 

What he's mostly sorry about is that Connor needs to be examined by an android technician with immigration - he knows it isn't that much different than a human medical, but it still feels like bullshit.

Connor just shrugs. "They want to make sure we haven't been modified in a way that's dangerous. It's okay." He retrieves a file folder from the coffee table and hands it to Hank. "Um. You should review all that. They ask about service history in the interview. You can ask me about anything in there that you need to." 

Hank flips through it. "Isn't it mostly routine stuff?"

"Mostly," Connor says. "Just look through it, okay?"

"Okay." Hank takes the folder with the paperwork back from Connor and tucks his records inside. "What do you want to do first? Paperwork or suits?"

Connor fusses with the sleeves of his shirt. "Can I show you the location? If you want to see it."

"Oh. Yeah." 

Maybe Hank sounds surprised by the suggestion, because Connor smiles. "You should probably know where to tell the officiant to go."

"Yeah, I guess so," Hank laughs. He nods at Sumo. "Is it somewhere he can come with us?"

"As long as he's good with a hike."

"About as good as I am, so you might have to peel both of us off the ground."

Connor looks amused by that. "You'll be fine. Let me get my coat."

It gives Hank the opportunity to properly look around Connor’s apartment - he has a shelf full of books that rivals Hank’s, and furniture that’s nice despite looking secondhand. His kitchen is small but surprisingly well-stocked considering he doesn’t eat - Hank hopes that isn’t on his account, but he thinks it might be - and when Connor opens his closet, Hank realizes that he hasn’t acquired a bad wardrobe for himself, either.

Connor retrieves a brown leather jacket from inside and pulls the hood of his striped sweatshirt out from inside it once it’s on, and that combined with the cuffed olive jeans is making Hank wish he had tried a little harder to dress in something nice today - although he supposes he needs to get used to standing next to Connor, because Connor is always going to look...well. Like that. 

“You want to drive?” Hank asks when he fishes his keys from his pocket as they’re leaving the apartment.

Connor doesn’t have a car, and he told Hank before, back when he first moved to Canada and he was a little more forthcoming since Hank was his only friend, that it bothered him that he couldn’t drive. Even when he worked for CyberLife, he could drive, and he didn’t like anything that felt like less independence than what he was used to, at least at the beginning. 

Connor looks up at him when Hank offers him the keys. “Really?” 

Hank said something nasty to him about not wrecking his car the night he was too drunk to drive them to the Eden Club scene and Connor had to do it instead. It’s not as bad as some of the other shit Hank did to him that night, but he still isn’t proud of it. 

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I need a break from it so my back can recover. Six hours in the car is a little rough.”

“Okay.” Connor takes the keys from him and slips them into his coat pocket.

And it is a relief to climb into the passenger seat and just let Connor get them where they’re going, which turns out to be a national park outside his city, up in the hills. He parks in one of the lots, and when Hank has Sumo out of the car, Connor says, “It’s back this path here.”

“Are we going to be able to get here without wrecking our suits?” Hank asks as he follows him, and Connor shrugs.

“I am. I can carry you if you aren’t.”

Hank snorts at that. “Yeah, I’m sure you can.”

It’s mostly easy terrain down the dirt path, although there’s a rocky incline that Hank hesitates at long enough that Connor reaches down to offer him a hand and help him up. Sumo has a happy smile on his face, occasionally trying to trail off to investigate a scent, although he mostly sticks obediently to Hank’s side. 

Connor reaches down to scratch his head as they walk. “He’s being good.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. It was going to be a surprise, but that doesn’t stop him from saying, “I thought he could be the ring bearer. If that’s okay with you.”

“If that’s okay with me,” Connor repeats, amused. “ _Obviously_ it is. Do you not know me at all?”

“Fair point,” Hank laughs. He’s always liked the pointed way Connor says, “Obviously,” if he’s being honest.

“It’s just up here,” Connor says, which is good, because they’ve been off the path for a few minutes now. 

A moment later, when the evergreen trees part and give way to a river and the waterfall feeding it, Hank sees what he means. 

“Yeah,” he says when they stop on the bank, looking around. “This’ll work.”

Connor smiles, crossing his arms over his chest against the cold. “I come up here all the time.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “I didn’t like parks or anywhere too natural for a long time. It felt too much like the zen garden where CyberLife had control of me. I felt safe in cities like Detroit, and on edge anywhere like this. But Kara and Luther go hiking enough that eventually I ended up going with them. It was a few months after the resistance the first time I did, and I was trying to ‘confront my trauma’, I guess.” He throws up air quotes around the words like he’s trying to take some of the edge from them, which Hank thinks is unnecessary. They haven’t talked about this much, but he knows trauma is exactly the right word.

“Anyway,” Connor says, “we came to this park, and went down this trail, and I wandered off because I was trying to prove something to myself, and I ended up here. The zen garden was always quiet and the waterfall is loud, and it’s just different enough that this felt okay. So I started coming here when I was anxious sometimes. It doesn’t always fix it, but it helps.”

Connor bends and takes a stone from the bank, skipping it across the water, and they both watch it fly. The silence stretches between them until Hank says, “You could have talked to me about it. When you stopped calling as much, I just figured you were doing okay.”

“Probably the same reason you didn’t tell me about rehab.” Connor shrugs. “I was ashamed of it, and I didn’t want to burden you with it. You had your own shit you were trying to untangle, and there wasn’t anything you could have done from Detroit, anyway.”

Hank supposes he needs to get used to these reminders that there’s so much about Connor that he doesn’t know. Those first few weeks of his deviancy are Hank’s, but there’s so much more of his life, so much time that’s shaped Connor into who he is, that isn’t. 

“I guess there’s a lot about you I don’t know,” he says, and Connor gives him a small smile.

“Well, we have the immigration interview. Good opportunity to study up.” He knocks his elbow into Hank’s. “I think there’s a lot for me to brush up on, too.” 

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I guess so.”

Connor looks around one more time and says, “I’m glad you like the place. I’m sure other people come up here, but I’ve never brought anyone with me.”

It’s a small consolation, in the midst of everything, that this is theirs.

“I do like it,” Hank says. “It’s better than the first place I got married, anyway.”

Connor looks pleased by that. “Where was the first place?”

“Oh. It was Jen’s church. She was religious, and I wasn’t, and she had a home church she wanted to do it at, so I just went with it. It was fine, but I would have picked somewhere more like this if it hadn’t been important to her.”

“Hm,” Connor says like he does when he’s learned something he thinks is significant but doesn’t want to discuss it yet. “We should go, probably. We still have a lot to do.” 

“Yeah,” Hank agrees, and he and Sumo follow Connor when he goes.

They’re halfway back to the car and talking about taking Sumo back to Connor’s apartment so they can go shopping when Connor’s LED spins yellow and he says, “Hold on, this is Luther. I should take this.”

“Hey,” Connor says before Hank can respond. “Oh, I can’t, I’m sorry. Hank is here...I know; we just kind of hit it off last time….sorry I forgot to tell you. I should go, okay? I’ll see all of you tomorrow.”

“Sorry about that,” Connor says to Hank when his LED circles blue again, although Hank is gaping at him for another reason. 

“You haven’t told them about this, have you?”

“No,” Connor says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to make sure you were really serious first.”

“Did you...think I wasn’t?”

“No, of course not. I just thought you might back out, too.” 

“Connor.”

“I’m sorry. I’m offending you, and I don’t mean to.” Connor reaches for Hank’s arm and squeezes. “I just thought maybe it was too good to be true, you know? And I was surprised that you care about me enough to help me like this.”

Hank gapes at him. “You know you’re, like, my only friend, don’t you?”

“What about Captain Fowler?”

“Okay, fine. One of two friends.” Hank scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not going to back out on you, Con. It’s important to me that you trust me.”

“I know,” Connor says. “I’m sorry; I do. I’m going to tell them tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” Hank says softly.

Connor gives him a searching look and then says, “I thought Alice could be the flower girl.”

It’s meant to move them past this and push the conversation forward, and Hank supposes he appreciates that. “Yeah,” he says. “That would be nice for her.” 

Connor squeezes his arm again as they reach the mouth of the trail and cross the lot to Hank’s car.

“I was going to invite Jeff and his wife,” Hank says once they’re back in the vehicle, because it’s becoming more and more apparent to him that Connor has felt abandoned by him in the last year, and since he doesn’t know what to do about that, he’d prefer to just ignore it. 

(“You’re the one with all the friends, and a new date every week,” he’d like to say. “Why the fuck would I have thought you needed me?”)

He doesn’t think he would like where that conversation might lead.

And maybe Connor doesn’t want to have the conversation either, because he’s happy enough to go along with Hank as he breezes past it. “That would be nice,” he says. “Did he say anything to you? About...all of this?”

“Something about me being crazy, but I think he’s gotten over it.”

Connor smiles. “This is a little crazy.”

“Yeah.” Hank leans his head back against the seat. “I guess it is.”

They drop Sumo off back at Connor’s apartment, and as they’re walking down the stairs without him, Connor says, “How do you want to say we started dating?”

“Oh.” Hank knows they need a story, but he hasn’t given it any thought. “I have no idea.”

“It’s probably better if we stick as close to the truth as we can.”

“Probably. What did you have in mind?”

Connor smiles at that. “I think we should say we started dating this past December, after you got home from rehab. We can say we had feelings for each other the week we worked together last November, maybe, but it was too complicated, and so you brought me to Canada instead. I tried to build a life here, but I never stopped wanting to come home to you, so when android and human marriages were recognized in November and they started granting green cards, we got together.”

Hank clears his throat. His face feels hot. “Sounds like a goddamn romance novel.”

Connor shrugs. “It’s all traceable if they check against our phone records. That’s important, I think.”

“Who asked who out?”

Connor looks at him, almost like he’s trying to see something inside him, and then says, “I asked you.”

Hank snorts. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. I just think that’s how it would go.” 

“Because I’m shit at relationships?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Connor still gives him a reproving glance. “Because you don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Huh.”

Hank is glad they reach the car then, because the radio lets him drown this out.

Connor turns the music down after a moment, because he’s still annoying like that, apparently. Hank used to think he couldn’t read a room, but now he thinks he reads the room better than almost anyone else and just chooses to be stubborn sometimes anyway. 

“You probably shouldn’t have asked me to marry you if you didn’t want to talk about this,” Connor says when Hank pulls onto the street, a teasing note to his voice.

He’s at least trying to be gentle. That’s something, Hank supposes.

“Sorry,” he says. “You’re right. Go on.” 

“We’ll have to explain why we’ve barely seen each other. That’s traceable, too - how much time you’ve been in Canada. It’s a twelve hour drive round trip, so that’s in our favor, and we both work irregular schedules, so I guess that will have to be good enough. I think if we try to explain it beyond that we might get ourselves stuck.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “For the record, I should have come up to see you before all of this.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says softly.

It’s not common practice for human immigrants to have their phone logs reviewed, but immigration is doing that with androids by default. They don’t read the text messages unless they have a reason to be suspicious and the android has granted them permission, but they do check who the android has been talking to. And that still creates a very particular problem for them, one that Hank has been hesitant to address, if only because he doesn’t want it to come out the wrong way. 

But they do have to address it.

“They’re going to realize how much time you’ve spent dating other people,” Hank says carefully.

Connor doesn’t look at him. “You weren’t an option for me, and I was bored and lonely. What else was I supposed to do?” He shrugs. “It’s an easy enough thing to tell them.”

Hank doesn’t know if that’s going to be good enough or not, but he supposes it’s going to have to be. “You’ll need to scrub your records a little bit. If we started dating in December, you can’t have anything saying you were talking to other guys after that. Can you do that without it getting caught when the technician looks at you?”

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts. “One step ahead of you. It’s already done.” 

“Okay,” Hank says. “Good.”

“I think the proposal story can stay the same, too,” Connor says, propping his elbow on the window and leaning his head in his hand as he looks at Hank. “What made you decide to do it?”

Hank stares at the road. “Uh. We can just say I was kind of sick of not having you with me.”

“Okay,” Connor agrees softly. “Do you call me baby?”

Hank looks over at him, surprised, and Connor shrugs. “I know you were joking, but you called me that before, and they ask about nicknames sometimes.”

“Oh,” Hank says. “Yeah. I guess I can call you baby.” 

“I don’t think I call you anything,” Connor says after a moment, thoughtful. “I think I just call you Hank.”

Hank knew they were going to have to talk about all of this, but Connor is being as earnest and forthcoming as he’s ever been with sensitive subjects, and it’s making Hank feel vulnerable in a way he doesn’t entirely care for. Connor might have shrugged him off when he said it, but historically, he _is_ shit at relationships, and this feels like an uncomfortable reminder of that, even if he shouldn’t let it poke at whatever is tender inside him. 

“You don’t think I look like a ‘baby’?” Hank asks.

It’s meant to be a joke, but of course Connor takes it seriously. “You might. But you were only ever supposed to be Lieutenant Anderson to me, so your name is special enough.”

“Oh,” Hank says. “You’ve really thought this story out, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Connor tilts his head. “But I do like that I get to call you Hank. The best story is partial truth.”

“You’re good at this,” Hank says, and Connor smiles.

“I’ve had CyberLife in my head. I think I can lie to anyone.”

Hank thinks he can, too. The part of this he’s been most nervous about is the interview, but he thinks now that was short-sighted of him - Connor can charm the hell out of anyone, and he can certainly charm his way into the states.

Hank will review Connor’s maintenance records still, but he thinks they’ve got this. It’s easy enough to prove that they’ve known each other for over a year, to tell a compelling story around their time together during that one week in November back in 2038, and Connor is right with his plan to say they started dating three months ago, Hank thinks - it gives them an out if they don’t know something about one another, but it’s enough time that it doesn’t seem like they just decided to do this for Connor’s green card.

“You feel good about this?” he asks Connor anyway.

Connor looks over at him with a small smile. “Yes, Hank.”

Hank is still thinking about what Connor said about his name - he wonders if he’s doomed to think about it every time Connor says it now - when he says, “Okay.”

Connor nudges his elbow, a joking smile on his face. “Okay, what?”

It takes a moment for Hank to realize what he wants, and he rolls his eyes goodnaturedly when he does. “I’ll turn this car around if you’re going to be a little shit about this.”

Connor blinks, blank and innocent, at him, and Hank doesn’t buy it at all. “I’m not being anything,” he says sweetly. “I just want to make sure it sounds right. I usually don’t get to pick what people are going to call me.”

He says it with enough of a manufactured pout that Hank can’t quite hold onto his scowl. “Fine,” he says. “Okay, _baby_.” 

Connor tilts his head like he’s considering it long enough that Hank says, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath, right before Connor smiles and says, “Yeah. I can live with that.”

“Great,” Hank says dryly, although he smiles when Connor elbows him again. 

Hank lets Connor pick the suits when they get to the store on the strip downtown. Some of it is just that he isn’t all that attached to anything he ever wears - this was the least important part of his first wedding to him, too - and some of it is that he wants this to be nice for Connor.

He doesn’t care about looking nice. He just wants Connor to think he looks nice.

So Hank lets him pick.

It’s how Hank ends up standing in front of the mirror in a grey suit while Connor holds a series of blue ties up to his collar. He says something about it bringing out the color in Hank’s eyes, and Hank’s face feels hot all over again.

Connor settles on one eventually, and he ties it for Hank even though Hank tells him he can do it himself. Hank looks at himself in the mirror as Connor stands off to the side considering him. 

“What do you think?” Hank asks, which is the sort of vulnerability Connor has earned that he wouldn’t give anyone else, even if they aren’t as close as they used to be.

Connor looks him over and smiles. “I think I’d marry you.”

“Good enough for me, then.” 

Connor looks as beautiful in the black suit he picked suit as he ever does, fucking _obviously_ , even though he fusses with his sleeves and his tie and his hair in the mirror like he isn’t sure. “You can’t tell me that you don’t know you look good,” Hank tells him when he emerges from the changing room in his regular clothes to find Connor still there.

Connor meets Hank’s eyes in the mirror. “Do you think I do?” he asks...which is how Hank realizes he never returned the compliment, and that Connor might have some of his own anxiety, even if he’s the most attractive person Hank has ever seen in real life.

He shouldn’t have forgotten that Connor is very concerned about being wanted and accepted for what he is by the people in his life...but then, it’s been a long time.

“Yeah,” Hank says quickly, trying to overwrite the mistake. “I think I’d marry you, too.” 

Connor gives him a small smile in the mirror and reaches up to touch his LED. “What should I do with this on the day of?”

“Whatever you want. Take it out, leave it in...either is fine.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

Hank gets it - he saw it in those first few weeks after the revolution, when he still had Connor with him, the way Connor struggled with wanting to accept and be proud of what he is and hating it, too. Hank wants him to do what he wants, but he understands why Connor is torn over it.

He comes up behind him and puts a hand on his back, and maybe it’s selfish of him, but he’s grateful to understand something about Connor, at least, to not feel like they’ve both let so much distance grow there. “Leave it in,” he says. “It’s all friends there, and I’ve always known you with it.”

Connor touches it again. “It does match the blue.”

“Right, that’s obviously what I was going to say next. It matches the blue.”

Connor laughs at that, and Hank is weirdly grateful that at least he can still make him laugh when he needs it.

They leave the suits for alterations and make arrangements to pick them up the Friday before the wedding, and they make their way back to the car as the sun begins to go down.

“Do you want me to pick up dinner somewhere?” Hank asks. “You really don’t have to cook.”

“Please let me demonstrate my trophy husband skills. I’d hate for you to think you’re not getting anything out of this arrangement,” Connor says primly.

Hank laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Whatever you want,” he says, because he doesn’t think saying, “I’m getting you back,” will come out the way he means for it to.

So they end up back at Connor’s apartment, with Sumo sitting beside Hank on the couch while Connor cooks and Hank tabs all the pages of their paperwork Connor needs to sign before Hank files it with immigration.

“You booked a photographer, didn’t you?” Connor asks at some point over the sizzling in the pan. “We need to bring wedding pictures with us.”

“Yeah. No idea how good she is - I just went with the first one I could find who had our date open.” Hank twists to look over the back of the couch at him. “There’s nothing weird about your mouth, is there?”

Connor raises an eyebrow, smiling. “Do you want to try to rephrase that?”

“Sorry,” Hank says, sheepish. “I don’t want to show immigration a bunch of pictures of us kissing and me looking surprised by the weird texture of that million dollar crime scene lab you call a tongue, is what I meant.”

“I think you’ll find that everything is about what you’re used to,” Connor says, shrugging. “You can test it if you’re worried about it.”

“What, your mouth?” Hank asks.

He’s joking, but Connor sets his spoon down and lowers the heat on whatever he’s cooking before he turns to face Hank.

“Yes,” he says, shrugging, while Hank gapes at him. “We have to do it in a few weeks anyway, and you’re right that we shouldn’t look unnatural about it.”

“I was joking. I’m sure your mouth is perfectly normal.”

Connor tilts his head. “I know you were. I’m not.”

It doesn't stop the way Hank is staring at him, so Connor huffs a small laugh and adds, "If it's too weird for you to kiss me, we may want to rethink this arrangement."

"It's not weird," Hank says quickly.

"Good," Connor replies. "Then get over here." 

"Alright, don't be bossy about it," Hank says. It's supposed to be a joke, because Connor has that narrow look on his face that Hank used to see when he was pursuing a suspect, but he finds that his mouth is too dry for it to quite come out right. 

He pushes himself up and crosses the few feet to Connor's kitchen behind him, and when he gets to him, the corner of Connor's mouth lifts and he reaches up to grasp Hank's jaw.

"Maybe I think your beard is weird," he says wryly.

"Alright, you know what..." Hank starts, but he kisses Connor before he completes the thought, taking him enough by surprise that Connor makes a small, stunned noise against Hank's mouth before he reaches up to touch Hank's face and wind an arm around his neck.

And kissing Connor _is_ different, but not for the reasons Hank might have suspected - not because it's Connor, and not because anything about Connor's mouth feels that unlike what Hank is used to working with, but because Connor is good at this, and it's very clear that the reason why he's good at this is because he's preconstructing everything. And that's an odd thing to try to make sense of, that Connor is running through the different ways Hank is going to move his jaw and his lips and his tongue and responding to that.

Which is not to say that Hank doesn't like it. Just that he's going to be thinking about it for days trying to get used to the idea.

Connor pulls away from him, but he leaves his arm around Hank's shoulders and stays close to him when he does. "Well?" he asks, squeezing the back of Hank's neck. 

"Yeah," Hank says, and hell, he really wishes his voice wouldn't have cracked on the word, or that he had come up with anything more competent to say.

Connor doesn't let it slide, either. He lifts an eyebrow, looking amused. "I don't know what that means, Hank."

Hank clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, you feel normal, and this isn't weird."

"Told you." Connor smiles, running his fingers through Hank's beard. "You feel normal, too." He kisses Hank again, just a quick peck on the lips, before he turns back to the pan he's cooking over. 

Hank has the distant thought that he should probably move, go back to the couch or sit at the table or say something, anything other than just standing there, transfixed, until Connor comments on it.

It's too distant for him to do anything with it, though, and Connor doesn't say anything, either, when he looks over and finds Hank still there, still looking at him. He just smiles and says, "Do you want to grab me a plate from that cupboard?"

His LED is spinning yellow like he's thinking something, and Hank wonders what it is.

Hank doesn’t know what the protocol is here - if they should talk about the kiss beyond just acknowledging that it felt comfortable for both of them, or if they should just move on.

But Connor seems like he’s moving on - he’s spooning the rice from the cooker onto the plate and topping it with the curry he made, and then setting it at the table with a spoon, so Hank retrieves the folder of paperwork from the couch and lays it across from his seat so Connor can work on signing while he eats.

And the food is incredible, but of course it is. Of course Connor is good at everything, even the things he can’t enjoy himself and has no reason to master.

“This is really good,” Hank says between bites. “You really didn’t have to stock your pantry for me, but it’s good. This is the first proper home cooked meal I’ve had in...well, shit. I don’t even remember.”

Connor doesn’t look up from the paperwork, but Hank can tell he’s pleased - there’s a certain air about him when he’s proud of himself for something that he can never properly mask. “I like doing it. I’ll cook for you some more when I get to Detroit, if you want me to.”

“I used to cook some, before...everything. We could do it together, if you wanted? I’d like to get back into it.”

“Careful.” And now Connor does look up, a small smile on his face. “If we’re too domestic, people will think we’re happily married.” 

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Connor doesn’t answer, because of course it is the point...right up until it isn’t, until it’s time for them to get divorced three years from now, when Connor can get his citizenship.

But Connor said it gently enough, more like he’s teasing than giving Hank the harsh reminder this feels like, so Hank shrugs and says, “I’d still like to. I have to figure out how to fend for myself better once you move out.”

“Okay,” Connor says softly.

He finishes signing before Hank finishes eating, so when he gets up and goes to his dresser, Hank doesn’t follow him. Instead, he flips through the paperwork and realizes that Connor’s signature is his name and his serial number, because of course he doesn’t have any other. 

“Hey,” Hank says over his shoulder. “Do you want to take my name?”

Connor stops rooting through his drawer, LED spinning yellow again. “I didn’t realize I could.”

“I mean...yeah. For the three years, obviously, but if you wanted to keep it afterwards, you could. I don’t know if you like your serial number or not...”

“I don’t.”

“Well, if you don’t think it’s weird to take mine, you can have it, permanently. Like...as a favor, or whatever.”

“Okay,” Connor says. “Thank you.” He’s still spinning yellow, and Hank worries he’s broken him, but he looks pleased about it, so Hank also doesn’t push.

When Connor returns to the table, it’s to set something in front of Hank as he’s finishing his meal. It takes Hank a moment to realize it’s a ring box.

“Oh,” he says, because he just doesn’t know what else to say. 

“I told you I was going to get you one.” Connor returns to his seat across from him and nods at the box. “Go on.”

Hank opens it, and it’s perfect, but of course it is. It’s tungsten like the one Hank got him, with similar wood features, but with a blue shell inlay that Hank is too unsure to ask about, but which reminds him so much of Connor’s LED that he can’t believe it’s not intentional.

“You don’t have to wear it before the wedding,” Connor says. “I just wanted to make sure it worked for you.”

Hank takes it out of the box and tries it on. “What did you do, scan my hands for my size?”

“Yes,” Connor says. “The last time you were up here.”

“Creepy,” Hank says, and Connor smiles.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah. Of course I do.”

Hank is moving to take it off and put it back in the box for safekeeping, but he looks at Connor’s hand on the table and realizes he’s wearing his. He wonders how it took him all day to notice.

So he leaves his on. It seems fair, and since he still needs to tell most of the precinct that he’s getting married, maybe it will make that conversation easier to start. 

(And it’s nice, too. Something that makes it real.)

Connor smiles when Hank slides the empty box back to him, and then he gets up and takes Hank’s plate from him.

“I can do those,” Hank says when Connor puts the dishes in the sink, but Connor nods at the clock. 

“It’s getting late,” he says, “and you have a long drive. Don’t worry about it.”

Hank would like to protest, but it will be two in the morning by the time he gets home if he leaves right this moment, and he’ll already have to stop at least once for coffee to stay awake. 

So he gets up to put Sumo’s harness on instead -Sumo looks entirely put out about having to get off the couch, enough that Hank says to Connor that he might end up with a dog if Hank can’t get him up - and then he pulls his coat on and tucks the folder of paperwork under his arm. 

It surprises him a little bit that he doesn’t really want to go.

“I’ll, uh. See you for the wedding then, I guess,” Hank says.

Connor stops running the water in the sink and leans against the counter. “Weird.”

“Yeah,” Hank laughs. “Weird.”

Connor crosses the distance between them, and at first Hank thinks he’s going to kiss him again, but he just wraps his arms around him and softly says, “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank clasps his hands behind Connor’s back and leans his cheek against Connor’s hair. “Anything for you, baby,” he says.

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out far too sentimental to sound like one, and maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Connor is important to him, and he deserves to know that.

Connor is smiling when he pulls away from him and leans up to kiss Hank’s cheek. “Text me when you’re home safe?” 

“Sure,” Hank says. “Have a good night, Con.”

“Don’t forget to read my maintenance records,” Connor calls after him as Hank walks down the stairs, and Hank raises a hand to show he’s heard him.

It’s going to be a long drive home, Hank thinks...and not just because of the distance.

He almost calls Connor when he gets in the car, but he thinks that would be a bad idea. Confusing, maybe...for the both of them. He doesn’t want to blur the lines here - he just wants this to be easy for Connor, something good.

So he puts his music on loud enough to drown his thoughts out, and he lets his phone in his pocket where it belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend on Twitter told me I should preserve this tidbit for posterity, so "Do you really not know how you looked at him last November?" is what Jeff's unasked question was going to be. 
> 
> This fic is being actively written as a thread on Twitter, and if you'd prefer to pick it up there instead of waiting for the next chapter, you can do so where this chapter leaves off [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1250118689405440001)
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) and [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come chat with me!


	2. the wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On March 6th, 2040, Hank and Connor get married. It might be a green card marriage, but it's still good.
> 
> Things don't have to be real to be good.

Connor doesn't go back to the dishes after Hank leaves - he can't make himself focus, even though there aren't many of them. Instead, he sits cross-legged on his bed, fingers steepled against his chin and his stuffed Saint Bernard in his lap, thinking. 

Thinking about kissing Hank, thinking about taking his last name, thinking about how he probably should have taken the time to think through how this might bring up all the complicated feelings from last November before he went tearing down the stairs after Hank to accept his proposal last time.

Hank doesn't know how much time Connor spent in those few weeks last November trying to sort through what Hank was to him, and what Hank meant to him, and what Connor wanted him to be.

Hank was the most important person in his life. With the things that bind them together, Connor thinks he always will be. So of course he loves him. That's always going to be true.

But Connor spent most of the time he stayed with him trying to sort through the odd mixture of want and need and love he felt towards Hank, trying to make sense of it when he hadn't felt any of that before, not being sure if he could be good for him after everything Hank had been through and not wanting to hurt him, wanting to protect Hank more than anything and knowing he couldn't do that if he stayed, not from the world around them.

It was a mess. Sometimes he forgets what a mess it was. It wasn't Hank's fault, and it wasn't his - it was all just too new, and their world was too unstable, and so things happened the way they did, the way they had to.

Leaving hurt, especially when he and Hank grew apart some during his time in Canada, but Connor thought he was over that. He dated around, and made other friends, and figured himself out, but after all this time and distance, things with Hank are still complicated. Good...but complicated.

And this arrangement they're in certainly isn't going to make anything simpler. 

Connor doesn't want to back out of this, but he does worry about Hank, and about losing the most important person in his life if something falls apart, and so he doesn't know why he didn't see all these old feelings coming. 

He was just too caught up in it, he supposes.

And Hank's offer was too easy to say, “yes,” to.

It's 2:45 in the morning when Hank texts him, and Connor hasn't moved. "Hey," it says. "If you're still up, I just pulled in." 

"Of course I'm still up," Connor writes back. "Thank you for today."

"You don't have to thank me," Hank replies, and Connor wishes he didn't always feel indebted to Hank, that they were ever on even footing, and that Connor felt like he could ever repay him for all the things Hank has done for him.

Connor spins Hank's ring on his finger once, and then he writes, "You should get some sleep."

"Yeah," Hank replies. "Night, Con."

Connor doesn't hear from Hank the next day, but the following morning, it isn't even past ten before Connor has a call from him coming through.

"Hi," Connor says when he accepts it. "How are you?"

"Hey," Hank replies, and Connor can hear in his voice that some of the things Connor chose not to tell him at the time aren't secrets anymore. "I'm going to need you to explain some of the things in these maintenance records to me."

Connor pushes a hand through his hair. He wants to talk about this with Hank, and he doesn't, but regardless of how torn he is, there's no getting around that they have to. If they don't do it now, then they just have to confront it in the next few weeks before the interview.

And Connor would rather get it over with.

"Okay," he says. "What do you want to know?"

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you needed help last November?"

Well, Connor did wonder where they were going to start. 

"I'm reading this right, aren't I?" Hank continues. "You were sitting on my couch for weeks with a bullet lodged in your chest cavity fucking all kinds of shit up?"

"Yeah," Connor sighs. "That's right."

"What the fuck, Connor? You told me you were okay after that night."

"There wasn't anywhere to go for the repairs. Everywhere in Detroit was a CyberLife facility, and almost all of them were closed at the time. And I diverted the thirium flow so I wasn't in danger of critical shutdown."

"You should have told me."

"All it would have done is worry you. I thought it was for the best." 

"Don't do anything like that again. I'm serious. I don't care if I can't do anything about it; I want you to tell me."

"Okay," Connor says softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Hank sighs. "What's the thirium pump replacement in here from last January?" 

Of course they aren't done. The bullet is probably the worst thing Connor kept from him, if only because Hank was sitting beside him as Connor made the decision...but it's not the only one.

Connor glances at the digital clock he keeps by his bed, even though he doesn’t need it. “How much time do you have?”

“Enough,” Hank says, so Connor sinks back onto his couch and draws his legs to his chest.

“CyberLife was under a tight deadline to push the RK800 prototype out in response to the rise in deviant behavior. The developers couldn’t cut corners with my software or my programming, but there were shortcuts they could take physically putting me together. Most of my biocomponent design is from earlier RK models, and by the time they realized my systems ran too fast and needed a more advanced thirium pump than what they had at the time to supply some of my processors, there wasn’t enough time left to go back to the drawing table. Their projections indicated I could last for six months like that, so they deployed me anyway. I was a prototype, so I was never meant to last that long. Six months was enough for them.”

“Jesus,” Hank breathes.

“Anyway,” Connor says, “I remember my time in research and development now, because the technician Rose knows up here unlocked those memories for me, but I didn’t before. So I didn’t know that maybe I should have tried to take it easy, or that I should have scheduled that thirium pump replacement well in advance. I was out for a run with Luther and my heart gave out. We were only a few blocks away from Rose’s house - Luther had to carry me back, and Rose had to drive me in for an emergency replacement. I...um. I thought I was going to die.”

“ _ Why _ didn’t you call me?”

“I was pretty out of it while everything was happening, or I would have in the car. And after...I mean, I did call you. You were the first person I called. I just...I don’t know. It was already in the past, and I didn’t want to talk about it. Or I wasn’t ready to, maybe. I don’t know. I thought CyberLife was done fucking with me, so the reminder that I’m maybe never going to get away from them just...wasn’t something I knew how to talk about at the time.” 

It’s still not, honestly. But Connor is trying. He hopes Hank knows that he’s trying.

“Jesus,” Hank says again, but it’s less exasperated, more just sad. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Connor smiles and runs a hand over his face. “It’s okay. There’s nothing you could have done.” 

“Still.”

“Yeah. I wish you had been there, too.”

“Are you okay now?”

“They put in another incompatible pump initially, just because what I really needed wasn’t readily available and they had to work with whatever would keep me alive for the time being. CyberLife was in the process of developing a component that would be compatible with me for the RK900 that never made it out of development, but it took a long time and a few lawyers to get them to distribute an unreleased biocomponent like that. I didn’t get it until this past October - I had to have another replacement with a makeshift unit over the summer to get me through since it took so long.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I see that.”

He sounds like he’s shaking, so Connor softly says, “Hank. I’m okay. I promise.”

“I know. I’m just pissed it happened to you at all.” 

Connor wishes Hank was there. He could stand for a hug right now - specifically one of Hank’s, because he’s dated plenty, but he still hasn’t found any better - but he settles for wrapping his arms around his legs and leaning his chin on his knee.

They’re both quiet for a long moment, until Hank finally says, “I didn’t know you run.”

Connor smiles. “Yeah. My body never changes, obviously, but it keeps my mind occupied, and I need that sometimes. Luther discovered it works for him first, and I didn’t think it would for me, but he dragged me along with him when we were all still living with Rose. It felt silly at first, but it doesn’t anymore.”

“Huh.” Hank says. “I’m sorry you’re losing Luther and Kara.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says softly. “They know I can’t settle here the way they can. I’ll miss them, but we can visit.” 

“Yeah,” Hank replies, and in the long silence that follows, Connor tilts his head with a small smile.

“You don’t want to ask me about the other thing, Hank?”

“Oh,” Hank says, and there isn’t much that’s different about his voice, but Connor still knows his face is flushing. “No. I mean...that one I think I get. And that’s your business, not mine.”

Connor can’t say why he got the phallic plate upgrade back in June - he wasn’t dating anyone at the time, and even if he had been in, none of his casual relationships would have been a factor. His capacity for sexual experience and feeling was limited and stifled without it, though, so maybe it was his curiosity, or maybe it was just that disconnect again, that constant tension between trying to accept himself for what he is and hating everything about the way CyberLife made him.

“I mean,” Connor says, “it might come up in the interview.”

“I’m sure it won’t.”

“I don’t know. If I was trying to decide if a relationship was real, and I had that in an android’s maintenance records, I would ask about it. Easy way to weed us out if you don’t know anything about it.”

“Yeah,” Hank says, “but you’re merciless.”

“Thank you,” Connor replies, pleased. “Just look those details over, would you? Just in case.”

“Are you telling me to read about your dick specs?”

“Yes,” Connor says. “I’m really not trying to torture you.”

(Maybe he’s trying to torture him a little.)

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Hank says dryly. “You’re the boss.”

“Aw,” Connor replies, teasing. “I should go. I’m meeting Kara and Luther.”

“To tell them about us?”

“Yeah.” Connor knows they’ll understand, but he still feels torn about it. He can’t grow or put down roots here - he’s tried - but he  _ is _ sorry to leave them.

“You can call me, or whatever, if you want to talk after,” Hank says. “I get that this part is hard.”

“Okay,” Connor says softly. “Thank you.” 

“Good luck.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Connor says.

He’s about to disconnect the call when Hank suddenly says, “Hey. I’m glad you came through all that shit okay.”

Connor smiles. “Me too. Bye, Hank.”

Connor stays where he is for several minutes after he disconnects the call, pressing his palms together as he thinks. It’s still hard to talk about CyberLife and all the ways he felt them ever-present in his life for the longest time...but not as hard as he thought. 

Not with Hank.

It’s a relief to have finally told him everything, even if it did bring to the surface that familiar desire to be touched and wanted and accepted. There’s not much he can do about it now, but in three weeks, they’ll be married, and in a few weeks more, once they’re past the immigration process, Connor will be back in Detroit, with Hank.

And he knows he shouldn’t make it a habit to seek physical contact from him - muddying the waters of their arrangement doesn’t seem wise or helpful - but it’s an encouraging thought that he won’t have to go on a date with some stranger just to try to find someone who makes him feel better, safe and shielded, the same way Hank does. He  _ still _ thinks about that day back when he was hiding at Hank’s house, when he went into stasis on the couch and Hank thought he couldn’t feel it, when Hank knelt beside him and carded his fingers through Connor’s hair. At nights when he can’t sleep, he still thinks about it.

He doesn’t know if it’s just because Hank was there for him first, or because Hank never left, but Hank is a comfort in a way no one else is, and it will be a relief to be close to him again.

Connor doesn’t let himself think much harder about that. He gets up, gets dressed, leaves early to walk downtown to meet Kara and Luther just to keep himself moving.

There’s a drink shop downtown that opened after the revolution Thiri-Yum, that’s mostly designed with androids in mind, even if they get some human patrons, too. Connor wasn’t the first or only android to discover he could drink in small portions - his capacity for taste is larger than most, but all domestic androids have limited sensors in their mouth, designed to assist with cooking and feeding children. The shop has smaller portions and thirium-based flavors designed specifically to be pleasing to android flavor palettes, and it’s a nice enough place to sit when Connor and his friends are sick of going to the park they usually take Alice to, or when the weather is bad.

He gets to Thiri-Yum - Connor cringes at that name every time - twenty minutes early. It’s busy, but they always are on the weekends, and there’s at least a table in a quiet corner open. 

Connor sits there, spinning his ring on his finger and sipping a drink that’s supposed to be cucumber and watermelon, wondering all over again if he should lie to Kara and Luther about the terms of his marriage and ultimately deciding not to - even if there’s a certain appeal in pretending this is real. 

He’s relieved when Kara and Luther are early, too, the way they always are - he doesn’t want to think too hard about this. Kara waves to him from across the shop, and Alice ducks where she’s seated on Luther’s shoulders so she won’t scrape her head on the low beams. 

“Hey,” Kara says when they sit down across from Connor. Her hair is long again, although still blonde, and she never did put an LED back in where she gouged hers out.

Luther helps Alice from his shoulders, and she goes to sit next to Connor. There’s face paint on her cheek. “Hey, sport,” Connor says, elbowing her. “You have something on your face.”

Alice laughs when he acts like he’s going to wipe it away. “It’s a zebra.”

“We went to the zoo,” Luther says.

“Again?” Connor asks Alice in exaggerated disbelief, like he doesn’t know they have passes that they use most weekends. There isn’t much to do in their area, and Alice is an easy kid to keep happy. “What was your favorite this week?”

“I can’t decide. I always like the monkeys, but there’s a new otter baby that was really cute.”

Kara props her chin in her hand. “We got to feed the sheep, too.”

“Oh yeah,” Alice says. “I like all of them. They’re all good.” She looks at Luther and leans across the table. “Hey, Dad. Can I have some money to go play Mrs. Pac-Man?”

Luther fishes his wallet out of his pocket and hands her his card. “Just one game, okay?”

“Stay where I can see you,” Kara says as Alice gets up.

“I know, I know.”

Kara gives her ponytail a fond tug. “Have fun.”

“Beat your high score,” Luther calls after her, and Alice grins and gives him a little salute before she goes. 

Connor asked Kara once if it was odd, knowing that Alice was never going to get any older or change. “No,” Kara had said. “We’re happy like this. We would be happy if she could grow up, too...but why would I want her to change when this is good?”

They’re the happiest family Connor knows, android or human, and it’s what they deserve after everything.

“What’s going on?” Luther asks him once Alice is gone, leaning his elbows on the table.

Connor manages a smile. “What makes you think something’s going on?”

“You never bail on us,” Kara says, “and you did yesterday.”

“Hank drove up to see me.”

“We know. We think it’s about Hank.” Kara nudges the toe of Connor’s shoe with hers under the table. “So spill.”

Connor spins his ring on his hand under the table. “You know how I got that job offer from the DPD? The one I obviously couldn’t take?” 

They’re both looking at him expectantly, so Connor sighs and says, “Hank drove up here a couple of weeks ago to talk to me about it. He wants me to take it. And he wanted to tell me that he was willing to help me get through immigration.” 

Kara glances at Luther, brow knit together. “The only way they’re letting androids back into the US is...”

“Yeah,” Connor says, and then he lifts his hand to show them the ring.

Luther recovers first, although when he speaks, it’s just to say, “What?”

Connor shrugs. “We’re going to fake it. It will allow me to work, and then in three years I can get my full citizenship.”

Kara blinks at him, unimpressed. “You’re going to fake it.”

“Yes.” 

“With Hank.”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t think that might be too complicated?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Connor says. “Yes, it’s complicated, but it always is. I watch you two, and Alice, and I know how happy you are, with your jobs and your home and your family, and I also know I’m never going to have that here.”

“I know you’re restless...” Kara starts, but Luther is the one who cuts right to the heart of it.

“Are you going to have it with Hank?” he asks, and Connor gapes at him.

“What?”

“That life. Do you think you’re going to have it with Hank?”

“No,” Connor says quickly. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to force anything to happen with us; that’s not what this is. I just...what else am I going to do? I don’t have that many options here.” 

“I know,” Kara says in that same practical voice she uses to reason with Alice. She puts a hand on Luther’s arm. “We know.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor says, and he is. He just feels defensive about this, and of his own complicated feelings about Hank in general. “I know you’re just trying to understand. I’m being unfair.”

“No, it’s okay,” Kara says quickly. “We just care about you.”

“I know,” Connor says. “You three are the best thing about this place, and probably the only thing I’ll miss.”

Kara reaches across the table to grasp his arm, giving him a small smile. “When’s the wedding?”

“March 6th. I was hoping you would be there. I thought Alice could be the flower girl, if she wants to be.”

“She would like that,” Luther says. “Do you want us to tell her you’re leaving?”

“No, it’s okay,” Connor says. “I can tell her. She should hear it from me.”

Kara squeezes his arm. “I’m happy for you. If this is what you want, I’m happy for you.”

“It is,” Connor says, and that’s true. He knows that’s true. He just doesn’t spend any more time trying to parse what it is about it that he wants. 

The job, the change of scenery, a living situation that isn’t so lonely...he wants those things, but he also feels like they’re starting to pale in comparison to how much he’s finding that he’s looking forward to working with Hank and being close to him again. 

That scares him, a little bit. Not enough to call it off, but...it does.

Alice comes back to their table a few minutes later, hooping up into her seat and looking between the three of them. “What happened?” she asks, worried.

Being on the run made her perceptive. 

“Nothing happened, honey,” Luther says. “It’s a good thing. Connor just has something to tell you.”

“What?” Alice asks, looking at Connor expectantly.

Connor realizes all at once that he doesn’t know if he should tell her the marriage isn’t real or not. “You remember me talking about Hank, don’t you?” he says.

“Your friend from Detroit.”

“Right,” Connor says. “We’re really good friends, and we’re important to each other, so Hank wants to help me get the job I want in Detroit.”

“What’s wrong with your job here?” 

Connor looks across the table at Luther. “You know how your dad loves going to work managing construction every day? He gets to work with people he likes, doing something he’s good at, and he’s able to take care of your family doing it.”

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t have that right now. And I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to do what I’m really good at here because Canada doesn’t hire androids to be police. But I can be a detective if I go back to Detroit, and that’s where my skills are.”

“I don’t want you to go.” 

“I know,” Connor says. “I know. I’m going to miss you and your mom and dad so much. But I think this is going to be a good thing for me. If Hank and I get married, I can go back and get the job I want, but the good thing is that I’ll still be able to come see you whenever I want.” 

“You’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “And weddings are happy things, right? I thought maybe you could be our flower girl, if you want to be.”

Alice looks at her hands folded in her lap. “I’d like that,” she says softly.

Connor ruffles her hair until a small smile breaks over her face, and then he wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a hug.

“I want you to be happy,” she says against his jacket. “I’m sorry I didn’t act like it.”

“Hey,” Connor says. “It’s okay. This is bittersweet, and it’s okay to be sad. I’m a little sad.

“But you’re a little happy, too.”

Connor squeezes her and kisses her hair. “Yeah, sport,” he says softly. “I’m really happy.”

“Okay,” Alice says softly. “Then I’m happy, too.”

Connor’s heart hurts, in bad ways and good. A little sad and really happy sounds about right.

Luther asks him before they leave if they’re still on for their run on Wednesday, and Kara asks if he has a color he wants Alice to wear (“Whatever she wants,” is the answer, since he and Hank don’t really have a color scheme), and things feel okay. 

Connor is still so sorry to lose them, but he and Luther can still run at the same time and connect with one another long-distance so they can talk, and he tells Alice she can call him whenever she wants, and of course he’ll visit. 

They’ll be okay. 

Connor texts Hank as he’s walking back to his apartment. “Okay,” he writes. “I told them.”

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response. “How did it go?” Hank’s message says.

“Okay. Alice took it pretty well. She’s going to be the flower girl.”

“That’s good.” 

Connor smiles. “I think all that’s left is for us to do the damn thing.”

Hank sends back an emoji of two champagne glasses clinking. “Looking forward to it, baby.”

“See you in three weeks,” Connor writes back.

(And he really is happy.)

* * *

The three weeks between them and March 6th pass about the same way they always do, at least for Hank. He and Connor are talking more than they used to - Connor calls him about the important things, but he’s also started texting Hank randomly, sometimes with pictures of something he saw that he liked, or that made him happy (it’s mostly dogs he sees on his runs), and sometimes...sometimes Hank doesn’t even know why Connor is texting him, because it’s about nothing at all, but it’s nice.

Connor is the one who opens the lines of communication more at first, but it makes it easier for Hank to follow suit. He starts texting Connor pictures of case files - he technically shouldn’t until Connor is officially on the force, of course, but he doesn’t think it hurts to prep him about some of the things they’re dealing with - and pictures of Sumo in equal measure.

And slowly, it starts to feel like those few weeks they were together in November 2038, when neither of them had anything else but each other. Their worlds are broader now, and both of their circumstances have improved considerably, but Connor starts to feel like the most important person in Hank’s life again.

Maybe that’s just the case because he never really stopped being that. No one ever took his place, after all - they just grew apart enough over the last year that it didn’t feel right thinking of him that way anymore.

Hank never really let himself think about Connor romantically during their time together. The instinct was there, and the feelings were there, but Connor was going through so much, sorting through  _ so much _ of the world around them, and he was reliant on Hank for a place to stay, so imposing that on him too felt..unfair. 

It felt like the wrong time.

Hank thinks about it now, though. He thinks about Connor flirting with him, even if it’s nothing new - flirting comes to Connor as naturally as breathing, an ingrained part of his personality - and he thinks about Connor living with him now that Hank is better off and Connor is more established in himself, how things will be the same as what he knows and how they’ll be different.

He thinks about Connor casually telling him to read about the specifications of the dick he had installed like Hank hadn’t already pored over them with an unrivaled, if slightly ashamed, curiosity. 

And he tries to keep himself from those thoughts, he really does, because things have changed for both of them but they’re also still the same. Connor is  _ still _ reliant on him for a place to live, and a path to citizenship...for this whole arrangement. And Hank wants so badly to be good for him here, to help.

And so it’s ironic, as he drives across the Canadian border with Sumo first thing in the morning on their wedding day, but now still really doesn’t seem like the right time.

He calls Connor once he’s across, because it’s a long stretch until the next rest stop and his eyes are heavy. “Hey,” Hank says when Connor picks up. “You want to talk to me until I can get some coffee? I’m about to pass out at the wheel.” 

“Sure,” Connor says. “Can you put me on speaker so I can say good morning to Sumo?”

He’s not joking. Hank rolls his eyes with a smile and taps the button on the screen, then puts the phone in the cup holder. “Go ahead.”

“Good morning, handsome,” Connor says, and Sumo is tilting his head at Connor’s voice when Hank looks at him in the rearview mirror. “Does he have his bow tie?”

“Yeah, and his little ring bearer pillow,” Hank says. “I don’t even think you’re marrying me for the green card, you know. I think you just want my dog.”

“He’s a very good boy, Hank,” Connor says primly, and Hank smiles.

“Hey, I was going to surprise you when I got there, but immigration scheduled our interview.”

“They did?”

“Yeah. It’s on the 20th.”

“That’s only two weeks from today.”

“Is that okay? I thought we could move you out the following weekend so you don’t have to pay April rent, and Jeff said he can have you start that Monday, if you want to.”

“That’s fast,” Connor says. “I guess this is your last chance to back out, huh?”

“I’m driving hours across the Canadian border at the ass crack of dawn to put a ring on your finger. I think it’s already a little late to back out. You’ve got me good and snared.”

Connor lets out a little huff of air, a telltale indication that he’s smiling on the other side of the line. “Good,” he says softly. “Oh. Kara just sent a picture of the arch at the location. Do you want to see?”

Connor was going to do it himself, but Kara and Luther offered to get the arch and chairs they rented set up at the park that morning so Connor wouldn’t have to.

“Sure,” Hank says.

It’s the wrong answer. It’s the wrong answer because Connor forwards him the picture of the silver arch with the daisies and carnation wound through it catching the morning light, the waterfall behind and orange and yellow petals scattered in the grass, and Hank gets a little choked up about it, about this wedding that isn’t even supposed to be real.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“It looks good, I think,” Connor says. “Kara did a good job - Luther and Alice helped, but that’s her.”

“Yeah.” Hank clears his throat and blinks the burning sensation from his eyes. “Yeah, it looks really good.”

“I’m glad you asked me to do this, Hank”

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “Me too”

They talk until Hank finally has the opportunity to pull off for coffee, and Hank thinks about making this same drive home with Connor in a few weeks, and his heart feels both heavy and light.

Hank and Connor are supposed to meet the photographer at their wedding location at 2, which gives them a few hours for pictures before the ceremony. She doesn’t know any of this isn’t real, of course, and Hank didn’t think that mattered when he booked her, but now he’s starting to think, as some of these old feelings for Connor reemerge, that it might be hard.

He’s been through this once. He knows exactly how much staged kissing goes into the photos. He was trying to legitimize it with a real photographer, but he’s starting to think he should have just asked Jeff to take a few pictures of them and left it at that. 

Hank gets to Connor’s apartment at 1:15 to change into the suit Connor picked up yesterday before they leave. He brings Sumo up with him since it’s already a foregone conclusion that they’ll need the lint roller he has in the car.

Connor is already changed when he lets Hank in. Sumo immediately tries to bowl him over, and Hank scolds him for it, but he’s honestly a little grateful, because it buys him a moment to look at Connor, at how well the black suit fits him, and how bright the laughing expression on his face is, his LED spinning a peaceful blue. 

“Hi,” Connor says when Sumo finally lets him alone long enough that he can put a hand on Hank’s face and kiss his cheek.

“Hey,” Hank says. “I have a lint roller in the car.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Connor says, bending to brush a few pieces of Sumo’s hair from his pants. “Your suit is in the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Hank sets the plastic container with their boutonnières down on the table. “You look nice.”

Connor smiles and pushes his hair out of his face. He can’t flush, but he almost looks like he might if he could. “Go get changed. We’re going to be late.” 

Hank knows better than to argue with him. He finds his suit hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and he listens to Connor cooing over Sumo while he changes quickly. He spends several minutes in the mirror trying to decide if he should tie his hair back or leave it down. 

He finally opens the door and asks Connor, because this isn’t real, but he wants to look nice for him. He wants Connor to think he looks nice.

Connor looks at him like he does when he’s preconstructing something, and then he says, “I’m used to you with it down.” 

It’s similar to what Hank said about Connor’s LED, so he lets it the way it is.

Connor fits the little orange flower to Hank’s grey jacket and smoothes his hands over the lapels. “You look nice, too,” he says softly.

Hank shouldn’t want to kiss him as much as he does, but maybe that’s just because of all of this combined, the suits and the flowers and the arch waiting by the waterfall. 

He clears his throat. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Connor looks at his hands on Hank’s chest for a moment before he lifts them. He’s spinning his ring on his finger in that compulsive way he does when he bends to retrieve Sumo’s leash.

Hank follows them down the stairs, and he feels his eyes watering like he might cry, and he barely even knows why anymore. He doesn’t know why he thought he could do this without getting emotional.

Their photographer’s name is Stacy. Stacy is a recent college graduate with a nice camera and a decent portfolio and modest prices, and most importantly, the ability to turn their album around in a week so they can hand it over to immigration. She says earnest things to them like, “Whisper something in Connor’s ear to make him laugh!” - “Remember when you handed Gavin Reed his own ass?” is the best Hank can come up with, but it does actually get Connor to genuinely laugh - and spends a solid hour moving them and Sumo around the waterfall and through the woods. It feels like they have endless pictures of Hank kissing Connor’s temple and his cheek and his mouth, like Stacy has told them far too many times how cute they are, enough that when she stops shooting for a moment to look for something in her camera bag, Hank softly says, “Sorry about...you know. All of this.”

Connor smiles and elbows him. “Don’t be. I’m having a good time.”

And then, like he’s trying to prove some kind of point or rising to some sort of challenge, he grins and grasps Hank’s tie, using it to pull him in and kiss him again.

Hank thinks all at once that Connor is better at this than he is, at acting natural, so he puts a hand on his face and kisses him back, because he’s trying to at least follow suit. Connor is warm in Hank’s arms, and Hank can feel the curve of his smile under his lips, and he thinks about all the guilt he’s trying to atone for where Connor is concerned, and how he’s not sure he deserves even this much of him and that he feels lucky that he even gets this, and that at least Connor seems genuinely happy, because that’s all Hank wants, in the moment before he hears the camera shutter.

“You two are so cute,” Stacy says for what feels like the hundredth time that day. “Come on. Let’s walk out to the road and get some pictures where the path is clearer.”

Hank has the distinct sense that Connor is hyper-aware of the roles they’re playing, the way he always is, because as they walk in front of Stacy, he reaches down and laces their fingers together.

They go through the same sorts of poses at the mouth of the path, and then Stacy flips through the photos on her camera and says, “I think we’ve got it. Is there anywhere else you two wanted to go?”

Hank looks at Connor, but he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Stacy checks the time on her phone. “Guests should be getting here soon,” she says. “Do you two want to go back and grab a few minutes to relax? I can stay out here and wait to direct your guests.”

Hank is going to tell her that isn’t necessary, but Connor smiles and says, “Thanks. That sounds good.”

Connor takes Hank’s hand again as they walk back the path, although he does drop it once they’re out of sight to roll his shoulders and his neck. Sumo bounds out ahead of them, more enthusiastic than Hank has seen him since...well, the last time they came to see Connor.

“How are we doing?” Connor asks, and Hank gapes at him. This happened back when they worked together, too, but there are so many times that Hank is under the impression that Connor knows exactly he’s doing, and that he’s doing it well, only to realize later that he just sort of fakes it the same way all the rest of them do.

Hank reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “I think you deserve a fucking Oscar. Jesus Christ.” 

“Aw.” Connor knocks his elbow into Hank’s. “I have a good scene partner.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “You think the pictures look okay, though?”

He’s nervous. Not about the wedding, exactly, Hank doesn’t think...just about getting through to the other side of it with immigration.

“Hey,” Hank says, squeezing his shoulder. “We’re going to get through this. In a few weeks you’ll be in Detroit, and you’ll be a detective again.”

Connor nods and swallows hard. He doesn’t meet Hank’s eye. “I’m afraid that if I want this too much, it’s going to fall through.” 

“I get it.” And Hank really does - he hasn’t let himself properly want anything in years, not after everything he’s lost. And what he does want, he doesn’t make any attempt to have. “It’s going to be okay, though...we know each other too well for immigration not to believe us. In a few weeks, you’re going to be home again.”

_ With me _ , he thinks but doesn’t say.

“I wish I could go back to the night we met and tell you that you were going to marry me,” Connor says, a pale attempt at humor. “I think you would have decked me.” 

“Yeah, well. Drinking makes it hard to recognize a good thing when you see it.”

Connor whistles to call Sumo back to his side, and then he says, “Am I a good thing, Hank?”

“For me? I mean...yeah. You know you are.”

“You’re a good thing for me, too,” Connor says, “but I’m not always sure you believe that.”

Hank doesn’t think a few minutes before their wedding, real or not, is quite the time to talk about this, but Connor has always had a penchant for taking things right to the brink of socially uncomfortable.

But he does recognize that Connor has maneuvered him where he wants him again, and that Hank probably won’t be able to dodge it, so he shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I was pretty awful to you at the beginning.”

“Everybody was pretty awful to me at the beginning, but you’re one of the only ones who stopped.” Connor shrugs, like it’s that simple. “That counts for something too, you know.”

Hank doesn’t feel like it does. He doesn’t even have his personal gun anymore because it was always going to be the gun he threatened Connor with in the park back in 2038, and though that isn’t the  _ only _ reason he thought he would be better off getting rid of it, he didn’t know how he would ever look at it and live with that night. It’s hard enough even with it gone.

Hank lifts a hand, hesitates, and then puts it on the back of Connor’s head. Connor looks over at him, and Hank runs his fingers over his hair and squeezes the back of his neck, and Hank still doesn’t feel like things are right, necessarily, but Connor does have a way of making him feel better, too.

Connor’s LED spins yellow, and then he says, “Kara and Luther are pulling in. They’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Hank drops his hand from Connor’s neck, even if he might like to leave it there. The moment has passed. “Is this going to be awkward?”

“Because you’re a cop?”

“Because I’m  _ the _ cop who chased Kara and Alice across that highway.”

“Actually, I’m the cop who did that,” Connor says practically. “You’re the one who stopped me from running them down.”

Hank raises an eyebrow, so Connor sighs and says, “Kara remembers that, okay? You stopping me. When I told her about you the first night I was in Canada, when we were all living together, that was the first thing she said.”

“I didn’t stop you for her sake, though.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts at that. “Oh, she knows you did it for me. But she still thinks it was a good show of character.” 

“Oh.”

“Alice will be shy, but that’s how she always is. And Kara will be a little aloof, but that’s how she is at the beginning, too. But they both know I...they know we’re close friends.”

“Okay,” Hank says, and Connor smiles and grasps his arm.

“I thought we could grab a few pictures with them after the wedding. I don’t know how important they’ll be, but I’d like to.”

“Yeah, okay.” Hank says. “I’m not sure Jeff’s going to show, so we better get pictures of the guests we have.”

Kara, Luther, and Alice get there a few minutes later, and it is awkward, but not much more than it usually is between people who don’t know each other. Alice hangs back behind Kara until Sumo hunts her down and shoves his nose under her hand, getting a loud laugh out of her.

“You’re lucky you get to have a dog,” she says to Connor. 

“Hey,” Connor says, shrugging. “Christmas is coming. Maybe you’ll get a puppy.”

“Christmas isn’t for another nine months!”

“Stop backing us into a corner,” Kara says under her breath, elbowing Connor hard in the side.

“I’m not,” Connor says. “I just think you all should get a dog, and I’m running out of time to help Alice convince you.”

There’s an easy companionship between them that Hank envies a bit, even if he feels like he’s closer to it with Connor than he’s been in most of a year.

Hank clears his throat and nods at the decorations they put up that morning. “Thank you for that, by the way,” he says. “It’s beautiful.”

“You both deserve to have a nice day,” Luther says, and of course by that he mostly means that Connor does.

Hank would like to tell him they agree on that. 

(He would like to thank him for saving Connor’s life last year, too, but he doesn’t quite know how.)

“Alice did all the petals on the ground,” Kara says, putting a hand on Alice’s head where she’s still preoccupied with Sumo. “Didn’t you?”

Alice rights herself and scuffs her toe through the grass. “Yes.” She looks at Connor. “Do you like them?”

Connor lightly claps her on the shoulder. “Yeah, sport. They’re my favorite part.”

Alice wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m glad you’re happy,” she says, so softly Hank almost misses it.

Connor looks at Hank and says, “I am.”

“And I’m jealous you get a dog.”

“Maybe Hank would let me bring him with me to visit you sometimes.”

“Oh,” Hank says when Alice looks at him expectantly. “Yeah. He loves car rides, and visiting people.”  _ And Connor. _ “He would like that.”

“You have to promise,” Alice tells Connor, and Connor wastes no time extending his pinky to her.

Hank wishes, sometimes, that Cole could have known Connor. He’s always thought Connor would have been good with him.

If his eyes sting now, that’s why.

Jeff does show up. He comes alone - maybe it was too much to try to explain to his wife that Hank is suddenly getting married after so much time alone, or maybe that's paranoid and she was just busy.

"Hey," Hank says when he sees him coming through the trees. "I didn't think you were going to show."

"Come on, now," Jeff says when Hank reaches him. "Figured if you went to the trouble of asking, it was important to you."

"I guess it is," Hank says. "It's just a long drive, and..."

_ And it's not like it's real. _

Jeff laughs. "You're damn right it's a long drive. But I kind of wanted to see this."

It doesn't entirely feel good for Jeff to talk about the wedding like it's some kind of spectacle, but Hank understands why he does. And he also can't really say  _ why _ it bothers him. Jeff said this was him moving onto the next crazyass motherfucker idea, and Hank sees why it looks like exactly that.

Connor comes over to join them then, and he looks about as nervous to see Jeff again as Hank was to meet Kara and her family. "Hi, Captain," he says, extending a hand for Jeff to shake. "Thank you for coming."

"I think I sort of incited this by offering you a job. Seemed like the least I could do was show up for it." Jeff takes Connor's hand and claps him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again." 

Connor smiles. "You too."

"I was going to email you on Monday about your start date, assuming everything goes well with immigration."

"Hank told me," Connor says. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah," Jeff says. And then, because he's softer at heart than he likes to let on, he adds, "Me, too."

Their photographer rounds the bend with their officiant then, and when Hank puts a hand on Connor's arm, Connor looks at him and smiles.

They planned a simple ceremony. Hank has already been through this once, and it seems silly to go through so many of the more performative parts of a wedding with only four guests watching. Alice goes before them down the aisle with her basket of flower petals, and Hank and Connor walk down together and stand under the arch Kara decorated for them, hand in hand. 

They didn't write their own vows. Connor asked if they should, but it just felt...too personal, maybe? There are so many things Hank would like to say to Connor, so many things he'd like to promise him, but this doesn't seem like the time or the place for them. 

He doesn't want to muddy the waters or confuse real feelings with a staged event.

So they say the traditional vows to each other, and Connor's eyes are bright and brilliant when they say, "I do," and he beams when the officiant says, "You may kiss your husband." 

Connor moves first, wrapping an arm around Hank's neck and settling a hand over Hank's heart when he kisses him. 

Hank can feel him smiling, and it feels worth it. He puts his hands on Connor's face when they part and kisses his forehead, and Connor squeezes the back of Hank's neck, and if there's clapping from their few guests or the camera going off it's drowned out by the water behind them, like it's just the two of them.

It's good, Hank thinks.

Things don't have to be real to be good.

* * *

They have a nice night, if an awkward one. Hank rented a dining room at a restaurant downtown for their “reception”, which is mostly just them eating dinner together after they drop Sumo off at Connor’s apartment, even though half of them can’t eat. Kara’s family is admittedly odd company with Jeff, and Stacy keeps trying to fill the silence, and it’s odd for  _ almost _ everyone present to know this is an arrangement but for Hank and Connor to have to put on airs for Stacy’s camera anyway, sitting close together in the booth and holding hands under the table.

They have a small wedding cake, and though Hank was trying to avoid all the more traditional reception events, Stacy still makes him and Connor cut it together.

“Okay, now feed each other!” she says from behind her camera.

“He can’t eat, remember?” Hank says, nodding at Connor. 

“Oh, right, sorry!”

“That’s okay,” Connor says to her, and when Hank turns back to look at him, Connor smears a bite of cake across Hank’s mouth anyway.

Hank wipes some of it away with a finger. “Really?”

Connor shrugs innocently. “ _ You _ can eat.” 

Hank wipes the rest of his mouth clean with a napkin, and once he does, Connor surprises him by wrapping an arm around his shoulders and kissing the corner of his lips.

“What?” he asks when Hank looks at him. “I can taste it if it’s diluted enough.” 

Stacy somehow ropes them into a first dance, too. There’s no DJ and no dance floor, but there’s soft music coming through the restaurant’s stereo system and enough room to make it work, and Hank sort of hates it because it’s just some song he doesn’t know, and if they were going to do this, he would have liked to do it right, but Stacy is entirely earnest about it, and Connor is equally earnest about playing along, so Hank goes with it, and he spends the whole time trying not to think too hard that Connor fits nicely in his arms. 

It’s an early night after that. Jeff leaves first, citing the long drive - he tells Connor that he’ll see him soon before he goes - and they only paid Stacy until 7 pm, so she leaves not long after. Hank and Connor stay at the restaurant a while longer with Kara, Luther, and Alice - the androids order another round of wine and a lemonade for Alice since all of them can at least enjoy that, even though Hank abstains from drinking these days, and Hank learns about their work and their lives in Canada, and it’s nice, feeling like he’s slotting into Connor’s life again, getting to know his friends and making up for some of that lost time.

Connor doesn’t sit as close to Hank as he did when Stacy was there, but he still sits close enough that Hank can feel his warmth beside him and that their arms brush together now and then when they both reach for something on the table.

Another hour has passed when Kara looks at the clock and says, “We should go. It’s getting to be someone’s bedtime.”

Alice scowls when Kara puts a hand on her head. “I’m not tired.”

“It’s okay, sport,” Connor says. “We have to get back to let Sumo out, and Hank has a long drive back. So you won’t be missing anything.”

Alice looks at Hank with a furrowed brow. “You aren’t staying?”

Hank doesn’t even begin to know how to answer that question, especially when Connor told her this was a friend helping out another friend but also never explicitly told her that the marriage itself isn’t real.

Luther steps in almost immediately. “Hank lives in Detroit, baby. Remember? That’s why Connor is moving.”

“No, I  _ know _ ,” Alice says, “but when you’re married you’re supposed to stay together.” 

“Sometimes things are more complicated than that,” Kara tells her, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Now come on. Let’s go get your coat.”

“We’ll walk out with you,” Connor says, probably because Alice still seems reluctant and he’s trying to make her feel like there’s nothing she’s missing.

Hank doesn’t say anything, but there’s something about Alice’s comment that cut anyway. Not because she meant any harm by it, of course...there was just too much clarity in it.

“Thank you,” Connor says to Hank once they’ve parted ways in the parking lot and gotten into Hank’s car. “I had a good night.”

“I did, too,” Hank says, “but you really need to stop thanking me.”

Connor makes his puppy dog eyes at that. “I can’t appreciate my husband?”

“Not for this,” Hank says as they pull out of the lot. “You’ve thanked me enough. Find something else to appreciate me for if you must.”

Connor shrugs. “Okay,” he says, like Hank was making a serious suggestion. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “It’s not what Alice meant, and they probably won’t, but if immigration looks into your travel tonight with border control, it won’t look good if you left your new husband right after the reception.”

Hank gapes at him. “What do you want me to do, get a motel?”

“No,” Connor scoffs. “But you and Sumo could stay at my place tonight, and leave in the morning instead. It’s no trouble, and it would look better.”

Hank wishes he didn’t have a point, mostly just because it’s been a long day of pretending, and he feels like he needs to separate himself from Connor and reset, mostly because he’s still thinking about kissing him. 

He knows he needs to get used to sharing a space with him, and he will, but...he needs to regroup first, because he wants to protect Connor, and he wants to protect himself. Today has him feeling fragile - in some ways he expected, and some he didn’t. 

But Connor really does have a point.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Hank says.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Connor says. “You and Sumo can take the bed, and I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.” 

“Okay,” Hank says, because Connor is starting to get that searching look on his face, the one that usually precedes the hard expression meant to intimidate in the interrogation room, and Hank doesn’t want to give him a chance to ask why he doesn’t want to stay. 

(“Doesn’t want to” would be the wrong words. Hank  _ wants _ to stay. He just doesn’t want to make this harder on himself.)

Connor does look him over, but the answer is good enough in the end, it seems, because he smiles and says, “Okay.”

* * *

It's a boring night between them, all things considered. Hank and Connor change when they get back to Connor's apartment, and they watch a movie until Hank falls asleep on the couch a little after ten. Connor watches the movie until it's over, although he spends most of that last half hour watching Hank instead. 

When the credits roll on the screen, he gently shakes Hank awake. "Sorry," Hank says when he opens his eyes and looks around.

"You got up early," Connor says. "You want to go to bed?"

"Yeah," Hank says. His voice is thick with sleep, endearingly so. "I didn't bring anything to sleep in. You going to be offended by my boxers?"

"I don't know. How offensive is the pattern?"

Hank laughs and shoves his shoulder. "Shut up."

He gets up and crosses the room to the bed, and Connor looks away while Hank unbuttons his shirt and steps out of his jeans. He doesn't look until he hears Hank get into his bed and pull the covers up - not because he doesn't want to, or because he's offended by it, but just because he doesn't want to make Hank uncomfortable. 

Sort of like how he told Hank he would sleep on the couch tonight, when he doesn't actually need any stasis time at all. He wasn't sure Hank would agree to stay if he thought Connor would be watching him all night.

"Night, Hank," Connor says before he turns the lights off. 

"Night," Hank says softly.

Connor lies back on the couch and pretends to sleep, even if he's actually listening to Hank breathing, to Sumo jumping up on the bed and starting to snore.

It doesn't take Hank long to fall asleep again, but he's been up since first thing that morning to drive to Connor. When Connor hears his breathing even out and steady, he quietly sits up, tucking his legs under himself. Sumo looks up at him and gets off the bed to join him on the couch, but Hank doesn't move.

"Hey, bud," Connor whispers to Sumo, who lays his head in Connor's lap.

Connor looks at Hank across the room, at his hair fallen across his face, and at his chest moving as he breathes. He thought a few weeks ago, after the day Hank and Sumo came to visit, that this would be challenging because spending time with Hank would bring back so many of his complicated feelings about him from their few weeks together in 2038.

Now, he thinks it's challenging because his feelings aren't nearly as complicated anymore.

They used to be. There was a time when he didn't know why Hank touching him was such a comfort - Hank was the first person to touch him kindly, but he tried to hurt him before, too. Connor remembers feeling guilty, like it was a betrayal of his people somehow, that he just wanted to be with Hank instead of with them.

There was the night a week after the revolution when Connor laid on Hank's couch and slipped a hand into the sweatpants Hank lent him, running his fingers along the seams in his chassis where his thigh met his groin, when he wondered if he wanted Hank to touch him like this, and when he knew in his heart he couldn't ask him...for so many reasons.

Because Connor was so new to everything, and because Hank had lost so much, and so Connor didn't think he could ask him for anything without being sure of what he felt.

It's difficult to be sure when you've never felt anything.

And it was complicated, too, by the fact that everything was so volatile, that Connor didn't trust that Hank wouldn't get hurt by protestors just for sheltering him, much less for being anything more than just his safe harbor. 

It was just so complicated. Too complicated.

But Connor isn't sure it is anymore.

If they weren't married, locked into this arrangement for the next three years, Connor would ask him out. He knows he needs to be sure, for Hank's sake, but he thinks he's sure enough that he'd like to try.

But Connor knows that would be dangerous. If things didn't work out, for whatever reason, Hank would still want to help him stay in the states, try to keep up their marriage for however long they had left until Connor could be on his own.

It would hurt. 

So that's the irony, Connor supposes. He sits there spinning his wedding ring on his finger, thinking that perspective is a hell of a thing.

He won't ask. He doesn't think he can.

But the last few weeks of talking to Hank more have made Connor think they haven't grown apart as much as he once thought they did, and today made him think he's still attracted to him, too, especially now that he knows more about what that means.

He won't ask, but if Hank asked him if he wanted to try to do this for real, then Connor would say yes, because he thinks there's still something there, and he thinks he knows now what it is.

But...maybe that's foolish. Connor doesn't know.

It's three in the morning, and Connor has been watching Hank sleep for hours, when he lifts Sumo's head from his lap and goes to the bed. He's quiet when he lies down at Hank's side, careful not to disturb him, monitoring Hank's breathing all the while so he can get up quickly if Hank wakes up.

Hank is on his side, facing him, and Connor can see the edges of the tattoo on his chest, although most of it is hidden by his white undershirt.

Connor shouldn't touch him, he knows - it just seems unfair, like a violation - but Hank is deep asleep, so Connor pulls the synthskin back on his fingertips and reaches out to trace the faded lines.

Hank doesn’t stir, so Connor dips his hand lower, settles it over his heart. He pulls his synthskin back further so his palm is exposed - he can feel the electrical synapses in Hank’s heart when he opens an interface, very faintly. It isn’t the same as what he can do with other androids - he can’t show Hank what he’s thinking without having to find the words to say it, nor can he see what Hank is dreaming of - but Connor finds it comforting all the same. He discovered it accidentally the first time Hank kissed him - his synthskin pulling back was an involuntary response then - but he did it on purpose during their wedding ceremony (although he made sure the camera wouldn’t catch it).

The rhythm is easier to feel with only Hank’s thin undershirt between them. Connor wonders what it would feel like if he could press his palm directly to Hank’s skin.

The fifteen months between them have been a good thing for Hank. Connor always thought he was attractive, although it was with a very limited understanding of the word at the start, but he looks so much healthier. His face has more color to it, and his clothes don’t hang off of him so much.

“Hot” is not the word Connor would have used back in November, 2038 - it wasn’t part of his language patterns then - but it’s the one he’d opt for now. “Beautiful” is the other. 

Whatever the word is, Connor thinks he could lie here and watch Hank sleep until morning, and so that’s what he does, tucking his arm under his head and making himself comfortable.

He looks down at the ring he bought on Hank’s finger, that little glint of blue shell inlay in the dim light, and he feels a pang in his chest that’s good even though it hurts.

Connor thinks being happy always hurts a little bit, and that it isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It just means he has something he’s afraid to lose.

Connor doesn’t trust that he can steal one last kiss from Hank without him noticing before the sun comes up, but he does smooth Hank’s hair from his face and lightly press his lips to his forehead before he settles himself under the covers.

Hank has the alarm on his phone set for seven in the morning, but Connor disables it. He spends hours lying there listening to Hank’s breathing patterns without ever feeling bored, even though he’s almost always a little bored just by virtue of how fast his mind moves, and at 6:45, he reluctantly leaves the warmth of the bed to start breakfast.

Connor figures that’s a kinder way to wake him up.

“Morning,” Connor says from the kitchen when Hank sits up at 6:58 am, like he hasn’t been watching him all night thinking about how much he cares about him and how attractive he is.

“Hey,” Hank says groggily, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye. “Did Sumo kick you off the couch?”

“What?” Connor asks before he remembers that Sumo is sprawled out where he was supposed to be sleeping. “Oh, no. He just stole it when I got up.”

Hank pulls his jeans on before he comes to join Connor - disappointing - and Connor smiles when he sits at the table. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo,” he says, as if he wasn’t tracing it like rivers and state lines on a map, a way to orient himself, only hours ago.

Hank touches his chest. “You never saw this when you were staying with me?” 

“You were being modest then, apparently.” Connor sets the plate of food in front of him and sits down across from him. “Can I see it? They might ask about tattoos in the interview.”

“Are you worried about the interview, or are you just curious?” 

Connor smiles. “I’m just curious.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” Hank says with a laugh. But he does pull the neckline of his shirt down so Connor can see it - the flowers, and...

“It’s a coin,” Connor says, surprised.

“Yeah,” Hank says. “The flowers are for Cole. The coin is...a reminder.”

“Of what?”

“That life is random, I guess? That you’re always just a coin toss away from any outcome. I don’t know, that sounds grim, but I had it before I lost Cole. I added the flowers on later.”

“I don’t think it’s grim,” Connor says softly.

“No?” 

Connor fishes his coin from his pocket, where he always keeps it even now, and tosses it once where Hank can see. “No. Sometimes you lose the coin flip, but sometimes you win.”

“Yeah.” Hank gives him a fond smile. “You get it.”

Connor doesn't just get it. He thinks about it all the time, about how CyberLife could have sent him somewhere else, assigned him to someone else, about how his whole life hinges on the coin toss that put him and Hank together.

He won that one. 

He's lost others, but in comparison, they matter so much less. 

He won the one that mattered.

~~

Connor doesn't see Hank again until the immigration interview two weeks later. Hank has a second copy of their marriage license sent to Connor's address so Connor can change his name on his legal documents before their meeting with immigration, and Connor cuts up the license that only has his serial number in lieu of any last name the moment he doesn't need it anymore.

He spends more time looking at "Connor Anderson" than he should in the coming days. He likes the way the name sounds, and he likes that it's his now.

Connor’s physical examination with immigration comes before the interview. Hank asks if he wants him to drive up to go with him, but Connor just says, "It's a ridiculous thing to drive twelve hours for."

"I know. But I would." 

"Yeah," Connor says. "I know. I'll be fine. I'll get Luther to go with me."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"You're a good husband."

"Yeah, yeah," Hank says, except Connor wasn't kidding.

The physical exam goes fine. Luther does go with Connor, although he waits in the car. 

Connor doesn't like being examined by technicians under any circumstances, but he's done it enough times with his thirium pump replacements that he at least doesn't feel like he needs someone in the same room with him anymore.

There's nothing for the technician to find - Connor's programming hasn't been modified beyond the removal of CyberLife's control systems, which he and Hank noted on their forms. His biocomponents match his repair records, too, so while it's a lengthy process, and an uncomfortable one at many points, it's an easy step to pass. 

"All good?" Luther asks when Connor returns to the car.

"Yeah," Connor says. "I hate shit like that."

"I know," Luther says as he starts the car. "Me, too. You want to go for a run, get your mind off it?"

"It's okay. I need to get back and start packing." Luther chuckles at that, and Connor says, "What?"

"What you mean is that you want to get home and call your husband. You can say it."

"Okay. That too."

"Yeah," Luther says as he puts the car in gear, smiling like he's in on a joke Connor isn't privy to. "I thought so." 

Well, Connor thinks, whatever Luther and Kara think they know, they probably aren't wrong.

A few days later, Connor's apartment is mostly packed, his life tucked neatly away into a few boxes, and he sits beside Hank at Immigration Services, waiting for their interview. 

Hank has a hand on Connor's knee - half show for the interviewer who's already walked by once, Connor feels sure, but also half because Connor has been anxiously fidgeting with his coin for the last several minutes.

"It's okay," Hank says under his breath when they're alone. 

Connor gives him a small smile. "I know."

The receptionist comes back for them then, and Hank squeezes Connor's knee. "Are you two ready?" she asks.

"Yeah," Hank says.

Connor puts a hand on Hank's back before he rises and straightens his tie. "Yes."

They take them to two separate interview rooms immediately, which wouldn’t be the case if Connor was human. Usually immigration only separates the couple if the interviewer thinks the couple might be lying, but androids get the treatment by default.

Still, being petty about it won’t get them anywhere. When they get into the room, Connor paints a polite smile across his face as the interviewer rises to greet him.

“Hi, Connor. I’m Natalie,” she says, reaching out to shake his hand. “Take a seat. Can I get you a bottle of water?”

Connor raises an eyebrow and waits for her to realize the mistake.

“Oh, of course I can’t,” she says, sinking back into her chair. “I’m sorry. Habit. We haven’t seen many androids come through here yet.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says. “I actually can drink. Water just doesn’t do much for me.”

“Noted,” Natalie says with a smile.

She’s kind, Connor decides. She could be playing good cop, he supposes, but he thinks she’s just kind. It makes him feel a little better, although he does still slip a hand into his pocket to close around his coin.

“Okay,” Natalie says, reaching for the camera beside her. “I’m going to record this interview. Should you want to appeal the decision we make about your green card status today, a copy of the footage can be made available to your lawyer. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’m going to ask you some questions about your relationship. Some of them may be a little personal to help us verify the authenticity of your marriage; you can decline to answer anything that feels too invasive, but I would encourage you to answer anything you’re comfortable with as it’s helpful to your case if we have the most complete picture possible. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s get started,” Natalie says. “Can you tell me how you first met your husband?”

Connor spins his wedding ring on his finger. “Yes. You might already know some of it - there was a week or two there where our names were plastered over the news - but I was developed by CyberLife in 2038 as a response to the rise in android deviancy. In November, I was sent on assignment to work with the Detroit PD to find the cause of deviancy. Hank was my partner.”

“And what was your relationship like in the beginning?”

“Not great. He lost his son, Cole, in 2035 when an autonomous vehicle skidded on ice and crashed into his car. An android surgeon operated on him and couldn’t save him, and Hank had to put his anger somewhere. He took the brunt of it himself, but androids, and AI in general, got the rest. So he disliked me by default, and I thought he was stubborn and a bit boorish. So...it wasn’t love at first sight, if that’s what you’re asking. But Hank has a lot of good qualities that are hard to ignore, so that didn’t last long.”

“It’s in your favor that everything from that week is pretty well documented,” Natalie says, “so I’d like to talk about why you came to Canada, if that’s okay.”

Connor nods. “I stayed with Hank for a few weeks after the revolution in Detroit. He would have let me stay forever, but things in the city were really volatile. I was worried some of the people protesting android autonomy would hurt him if they realized he was harboring me. I knew a few other androids who had already gone to Canada, and they said it was safer here, so I told Hank I thought I should move up here for a while.”

“That must have been hard.” 

“Yeah. Hardest thing I’ve ever had to do...he was the only person who really gave a shit about me back then, and if I had things my way, I never would have had to leave him. But it was the right thing to protect him.”

“Of course,” Natalie says, sympathetic. “So when did you two actually start dating?”

“A few months ago, in December. It was right before Christmas. We always talked once a week, except for the few weeks before that - Hank spent that time in inpatient rehab. And that made something click for him, I think, maybe put into perspective how short life is. We started talking more, and I never really stopped having feelings for him, so I asked him out.”

“And you got engaged when?”

“In February. He drove up here and took me out to a nice restaurant - I can’t eat, but I drink wine regularly - and he said he didn’t want us to be apart anymore. And I didn’t either, so I said yes.”

“And you got married a few weeks ago.”

“On the 6th, yeah. It was a small ceremony - Hank’s been married before, and I didn’t really want the frills or the expense. Hank has pictures in the folder of documentation he provided.”

“I looked through them,” Natalie says. “It looks like it was beautiful.”

“It was.”

“Can you tell me who was at your wedding?”

“My friends - Kara, Luther, and Alice. And Jeff Fowler, Hank’s captain at the DPD. They were classmates.”

“And did you go anywhere on a honeymoon?”

“No. Not yet. We’re planning to later.”

“Okay,” Natalie says. “Good. We’re going to get into a few of the more personal questions. Can you tell me when the last time you had sex with Hank was?”

“That night,” Connor says, their agreed upon answer. “Hank is a lieutenant with the DPD still, obviously, so his schedule is a mess, and I work odd hours too. With the length of the drive, it can be hard for us to find time for him to visit.”

“I understand,” Natalie says. “And do you two use condoms, either this most recent time or in the past?”

Discrepancies in the story matter here, but even if they hadn’t discussed their answer, it’s an easy one. Connor taps his LED and says, “There isn’t much need.”

“Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“The right. But I don’t really sleep. Hank sleeps on the left.” 

“Does Hank take any medications?”

“He doesn’t. He’s in really good health. We’re fortunate.”

“That’s good,” Natalie says, smiling. “How often do you two talk, either through text or over the phone?”

“We text pretty regularly, but...not enough. Our schedules make it difficult, so I’m just always missing him, you know?”

“I’m sure you’re looking forward to getting back to Detroit.”

“I am. I always sort of thought I would get used to being here and leave that part of my life behind - I’ve been here so much longer than I was ever in Detroit at this point. And I used to wonder why it didn’t feel like I could move on or settle, but it never had anything to do with the place, you know? It was always about him.”

Connor doesn’t mention that he has a job offer at the DPD - he and Hank decided it was better to let that go unsaid. But even without mentioning it, he thinks he’s still telling the truth. 

He doesn’t care for his job now, and he’ll be happier and more fulfilled at the DPD. But it was always about Hank.

Maybe Connor just needed to have him back to realize that.

Natalie looks through a few papers on her desk and then says, "Can you tell me a bit about the series of thirium pump replacements you had over the last year?"

Connor shifts in his seat. "I actually...I'd rather not talk about that, if that's okay. I was made with an incompatible thirium pump and a lifespan of about six months, and it took the last year and three procedures to rectify that. I don't like talking about it beyond that. I think the details are in my records if you need them."

"Have you talked to Hank about it?"

"Of course. Not until we got engaged, though. Hank was the first person I called after I collapsed the first time, the day I almost died while I was running with my friend, but I just...I had just learned something really awful about the way I was made, and I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want Hank to get in his car and drive the six hours overnight to see me, either, because I was sure he would have even though I was fine."

"I understand," Natalie says. "Can you tell me when Hank's birthday is, and what you did for it last year, if anything?"

"Yeah. It's September 6th - last year was his fifty-fourth birthday. I sent him a book I thought he would like - he still reads hardcopy books, for the most part - and a gift card to the food truck where he took me for lunch while we were working together. It's not the most romantic thing, but we weren't together then."

Natalie looks up at him, curious. "Why did you start dating when you did?"

"What?"

"Oh, it's just...it sounds like you had feelings for each other for a long time. You said something about Hank going through rehab..."

"That was part of it," Connor says. "But I didn't ask him out any earlier than I did because marriages between humans and androids hadn't been legalized yet, and Hank has been through so much, and lost so much. He's always been the most important person in my life, but I wanted to wait until the circumstances were better. I've never wanted to be something else that could hurt him after everything else."

"I understand that," Natalie says, giving him a sympathetic smile. "I'm glad things are changing."

"Yeah," Connor says softly, spinning his ring once more on his hand. "Me, too."

* * *

Hank takes a sip of water while his interview, Andrew, says, "Can you tell me how you first met Connor?"

"Yeah. So back in November, 2038, I'm drunk at the sports bar I used to go to, back when I did that sort of thing, and Connor comes waltzing through the door past a sign that says, 'No Androids'. Tells me we're going to be working together and I have to come to a crime scene with him, won't take no for an answer. He hauls me up, I almost puke on his shoes...what do they call it? A meet cute? This wasn't that. But we worked together as partners for that week, and he grew on me really fast, I guess, because by the end of the week he had deviated and I was risking my job and my life to keep him alive. I mean, you know about what happened in Detroit, of course. You probably know Connor's part in it, too."

"I do." 

"I brought him home to stay with me afterwards. He could have gone back with Jericho, but he didn't want to. But it just...it wasn't safe, you know? Connor asked me to bring him to Canada for a while. We, uh. We didn't know he wouldn't be part of the citizenship deal if he stayed up here for a while, so at the time, we thought it was a temporary thing, just until things were better."

"But you kept in touch."

"Yeah, we did. Connor's sort of persistent like that, you know? I sort of thought...I mean, I loved him, even already at that point, but everybody loves him. He's so charismatic, and smart, and so good with people. I figured he'd come up here and make other friends, date other people...you know. I kept waiting for him to forget about me and leave me behind, but he didn't. I've never been good at maintaining relationships, really, but he is. I'm grateful for that, but I'm grateful for a lot of things about him."

"When did you start dating, then?"

"Last December."

"A few months ago?"

"Yeah. I had some bad coping mechanisms that weren’t going to go away on their own, no matter how much I tried, so I checked myself into inpatient rehab back in November. Connor thinks it gave me a new lease on life and that's why I started talking to him more than we had been at that point, but honestly it was just that I realized during the two weeks at the beginning, when you don't get phone privileges, how badly I miss him when I can't talk to him." Hank shrugs. "I don't know. Figured that had to mean something, so...I started calling him more, and Connor asked me out a few weeks later."

It's like Connor said. The best lie is partially the truth.

Andrew jots something down on his tablet and then says, “And your engagement. Tell me about that.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I asked him to marry me in February. I took him out to Bricco, that nice Italian place downtown - he doesn’t eat, and he doesn’t get drunk, but he likes drinking wine, and...you know. It’s a six hour drive up to him, so I was hungry. And I just told him I didn’t want to be apart from him anymore, and that was pretty much that.”

“Two months is a pretty quick engagement.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it looks that way. But I told myself after I dropped Connor off at the Canadian border that if I ever got him back, I was playing for keeps. I knew the day we started dating that I was going to marry him.”

Andrew isn’t overly emotive, but he looks satisfied anyway. “Tell me about your wedding. Any significance to the location?”

“Yeah, I mean, without digging too deep into all the fucked up shit CyberLife did to him, Connor went up to the waterfall a lot in the year he’s been here. He found a lot of healing and peace there, and he needed both of those things pretty badly. He picked it, but I thought it was perfect when I saw it.”

“And who was there?”

“It was small. We just wanted something quiet, with the people who really matter. Connor’s friends, Kara and Luther, were there - their daughter, Alice, was our flower girl. They all lived together when Connor first got to Canada. And my friend, Jeff Fowler, was there too. He’s my supervisor now, but we go way back to academy. We were classmates. Oh, and my dog, I guess, if you want to count him. He was our ring bearer.”

“Okay,” Andrew says, looking over his list. “Can you tell me when the last time you had sex with Connor was?”

_ God, I wish _ , Hank thinks, and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at his own joke. “Yeah. We went back to Connor’s apartment after our reception. That was the last time.”

“And do you use condoms?”

“No.” Better to keep that answer brief. Even if Hank wasn’t lying right now, he wouldn’t say anything else.

“The sexual component upgrades that are in Connor’s maintenance records...can you tell me about those?” Hank raises an eyebrow, and Andrew says, “When did he get the upgrade?” 

“Oh. A few months ago.”

“Before you started dating?”

“Yeah. I mean...he did it for himself, if that’s what you’re asking. We didn’t talk about it before he had the upgrade done, because it wasn’t about us. I would have taken him the way he was, too, and he knows that. It was about him.”

Hank isn’t quite sure what Andrew is trying to ascertain, but he looks satisfied by that, too. “I know you haven’t been living together, but when you both sleep at Connor’s apartment, which side of the bed does Connor sleep on?”

“I sleep on the left. Connor only needs to sleep once a week, so he’s on the right, but he does more lovingly creepy watching than he does sleeping.”

“Can you tell me what your plans are once Connor gets to Detroit, assuming his green card is approved? Where are you going to live, what is he going to do for work...?”

“He’s moving into my house. He was intended to be an investigative model, and I know that’s the kind of work he’d most enjoy. Police jobs can be hard to get these days, but he could look into private work or consulting, too.” 

“Tell me about Connor’s apartment. The furniture he has there, things like that.”

“He’s in a small studio right now. He has a couch, a tv, a little dining area...he doesn’t eat, but he has a kitchen, and he likes cooking for friends when he has them over. If I hadn’t already proposed, I would have for the curry he made me a few weeks ago. He has a bed, one nightstand, a bookshelf...there’s a stuffed Saint Bernard on the shelf that I got him and slipped into his bag when he left Detroit, because I knew he was going to miss my dog. Is that what you need?”

“That’s good,” Andrew says. “I’m sure you and Connor are both looking forward to him coming home.”

It’s not really a question, but Hank still says, “Yeah, we are. I’ve missed him more than I can say.”

Andrew looks through his notes and says, “That’s about all I need from you. Is there anything else you’d like us to know?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I think it’s obvious I’m crazy about him.”

Andrew does crack a smile at that, and Hank isn’t sure, but it seems like a positive sign. He gets up to walk Hank out, and Hank rises to shake his hand.

“The rest of your paperwork has all been processed,” Andrew says as they leave the office, “so once Natalie and I review everything from today, we’ll be able to finalize Connor’s approval status. We’ll be in touch via email in a few days.” 

“Sounds good,” Hank says as they round the corner to the lobby. Connor is already done, waiting there with his ankle propped on his knee, rolling his coin over his knuckles.

He smiles when he sees Hank and gets up to meet him, slipping his arms around Hank’s waist. 

“Hey, baby,”Hank says, squeezing the back of his neck and kissing his hair without honestly caring if Andrew or the receptionist sees the little show of affection or not. “You ready to go?”

Connor nods against him and laces his fingers with Hank’s as they leave the office. He doesn’t let go of his hand until they get to the car.

“How did yours go?” Connor asks once they’re out of the lot.

“Okay, I think. What about yours?”

“Good. You and I have such a history, you know? It’s easy to be compelling.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I think my guy bought it.” 

Connor smiles and squeezes his arm. “I think mine did, too.”

Their interview was on a Saturday to accommodate Hank’s schedule. That Tuesday, a few minutes before 5 pm, Hank and Connor both get the email saying Connor’s application was approved.

Hank is still at work, but he steps outside to call Connor as soon as he gets it. “Hey,” he says when Connor picks up. “You still want to move back to Detroit this weekend?”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks Connor might be crying. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Hank says. “I’ll rent a trailer and Sumo and I will come up and get you on Saturday.”

“Okay.” Connor says softly, voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I’m overwhelmed. Just...god, thank you.”

Hank smiles. “See you soon, Con.”

It’s a long drive home from Canada, but Hank thinks it might feel shorter with company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all know, I'm writing this first as a thread on Twitter, and if you'd prefer to pick it up there instead of waiting for the next chapter, you can do so where this chapter leaves off [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1254413407631159296)
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) and [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come chat with me!


	3. the operation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank brings Connor home, and they get a lead in one of their cases. It sends them undercover to Eden Club, which is something Hank and Connor would both usually dread, but...well.
> 
> They're in it together, and so it isn't so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually prefer to let my writing speak for itself, but with everything happening in the US at this current moment, I would be remiss, considering the "good cop" story in this fic and all the inappropriate and insensitive ways D:BH lifts imagery from Black Lives Matter and the civil rights movement, if I didn't take the opportunity to remind everyone to please keep reading, learning, donating, protesting, and amplifying Black voices in any way they can. There can be a great deal of cognitive dissonance sometimes creating content for this game when I feel so critically about its message and the way it appropriates the struggles of marginalized groups, especially in light of something like George Floyd's murder, and I know many fans feel similarly. While I think it's okay to enjoy D:BH and HankCon fics even at this time, and while I think it's good that this fandom has built something so beautiful out of this game, I think it's important for us to understand where D:BH misstepped, how that relates to current events, and to remain critical of the criminal justice system and other systems built on racist foundations in our real everyday lives.
> 
> (If you're not familiar with what D:BH did so wrong, I would encourage you to read [this article](https://io9.gizmodo.com/the-casual-inhumanity-of-how-detroit-become-human-uses-1826776147) and to watch [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwVERl0OYjc) as a place to start.)
> 
> I'll step off my soap box now. If you're already doing what you can to stand up for Black lives, keep up the good work, friends. And if you're not yet, remember that it's never too late to start learning and fighting. ❤️

There’s plenty to do before Hank brings Connor home. He already emptied out the second bedroom for Connor - he was using it for some gym equipment he bought after the revolution, but that can go in the garage. He did that weeks ago, and maybe that was silly when Connor’s green card application easily could have been declined, leaving him to move all the heavy equipment back where it was, but...he felt optimistic for once, he supposes, and it felt good to get ready for him.

Connor doesn’t have a car, though, and he’ll need one - Jeff has already said they can’t always be on the same shift, which Hank understands. If they aren’t partners but they’re still in the same unit, on the same shift, then they might as well be, and Jeff went out on a limb for both of them here, so Hank and Connor need to try to avoid scrutiny from the other detectives and HR however he can. 

“Do you care what kind of car you drive?” Hank asks Connor when they’re talking one night that week.

“If you buy me a car, we’re getting a divorce,” Connor says sternly. “You’ve done enough.”

“Guess you’ll have to be surprised, then.”

“No, Hank -“ Connor starts, but Hank says, “Night, Connor,” and hangs up on him before he can argue the point any further. If any public transportation ran between their house and the DPD, Hank would listen to him and respect that, but Connor needs a way to get to work, and Hank knows from prepping for their interview that he barely has anything in savings with how little his job pays.

Hank finds a manual black Mazda hatchback when he goes shopping the next day that’s still in decent condition and going for next to nothing - most people choose autonomous these days, and it drives the price of otherwise decent manual cars down. Hank thinks it looks like something Connor would drive for reasons he can’t properly explain, so the sales android drives it home for him, and Hank looks at both of their cars in the driveway, and it warms something inside him, somewhere. 

Hank sends Connor a picture of it that night and says, “Don’t be mad. You kind of need a car where I’m at now - you’d have to transfer buses three times or spend half your paycheck just on a taxi. This wasn’t that expensive, and you can pay me back later if it makes you feel better.” 

It takes Connor longer than usual to text Hank back, and Hank worries that he’s actually pissed at him. But Hank’s phone vibrates a few minutes later, with a message that says, “I’m sorry I said I was going to divorce you.”

Hank snorts at that. “It’s okay baby. I don’t like people helping me either.”

“I’ve been trying to buy a car for the better part of the last year. It’s just hard, starting from nothing, and no one’s made it any easier.”

If nothing else, if no other good comes from this, at the _very_ least Hank can give Connor a better start, send him on better equipped than he was before. He’s grateful for that.

“No, I get it,” he writes back. “I would still be paying off student loans if I didn’t get a good scholarship. No one makes this shit easy.”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

He’ll maybe appreciate it less when he realizes that Hank couldn’t resist, and that there’s a vanity plate on Connor’s car that says “ROBOCOP”, (which was somehow blessedly still available in Michigan), but that’s another matter.

(If Connor _really_ hates it, Hank will get it changed, but he thinks what’s actually going to happen is that Connor will feign annoyance in that prim little way of his, like he does when he’s trying to hide that he thinks Hank’s occasional immaturity is just a bit funny.)

The next day at work, Jeff calls Hank into his office and says, “Do you want to partner Connor with Chris or Tina?”

The thing about trying more at work again is that Hank actually has to do his job, even though he neglected staffing and scheduling for years and Jeff picked up the slack. Chris and Tina both got promoted to detective over the last year, both got put on android victims as they saw an increased need there. They’ve worked together for most of the last year, with Hank supervising, but since Hank and Connor can’t be partners...

“Put him with Chris,” Hank says. “He’d get on with Tina, too, I think, but she’s kept in touch with Reed since he transferred, so let’s just not muddy the waters. I’ll take Tina.”

“Okay,” Jeff says, typing something on his computer. His printer starts up across the room, and when Jeff retrieves it and hands it to Hank, it’s Connor’s schedule for the first two weeks. 

“I’ll email that to him, too,” Jeff says. “I still can’t believe you two pulled this off.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Me neither.”

He can, though. When he told the interviewer he was crazy about Connor, he wasn’t lying.

Hank leaves Jeff’s office, and he pins Connor’s work schedule to his cork board at his desk and takes a picture of it, too, to keep on his phone, even though Connor is an adult who can certainly manage his own schedule without Hank knowing where he is every hour of the day. 

He texts it to Connor, too, even though Jeff said he would send it to him since he _technically_ reports to him instead of to Hank. He thinks about sending Connor a picture of his desk in the bullpen, too, ready for his arrival next week with a plant that Tina and Chris brought in and a nameplate that says Det. Connor Anderson, but it’s just another desk in the bullpen, really, even if Hank does keep looking up and imagining Connor sitting there.

Hank taps his phone awake when Connor texts him back a minute later. “Do you have one of our wedding pictures on your corkboard?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hank writes back. “Jesus, you can only see a corner of it.”

“I’m very perceptive.”

He’s very perceptive, but he’s also maybe looked through their wedding photos as frequently as Hank has to recognize the leaves in the corner of that picture when they’re all that’s visible in the photo Hank sent him.

Hank is smiling when he writes, “Of course you are.”

He walks past Connor’s desk as he leaves that Friday, and he puts the temporary travel documents he picked up from immigration into the glovebox of Connor’s car so he won’t forget them the next day.

And in the morning, he hitches the trailer he rented, and he loads Sumo into the car, and they drive up to Canada to get Connor.

When Hank gets there, Connor greets him by slipping his arms around him and kissing his cheek. “Hi,” he says when they part. 

“Hey,” Hank says, looking around Connor’s apartment. Everything is already packed into neatly labeled boxes, and he even has the furniture that breaks down dismantled and waiting to be loaded. “Jesus, you’re ready to go, huh?”

“Yes,” Connor says. “Kara, Luther, and Alice are going to be here in a few minutes. It’s not much to load, but they wanted to help and see me off.”

“That’s nice of them.” Hank passes the key ring to Connor - it has the fob for his car on it, but also a key to Hank’s house that Hank had made for him. “You’re driving home.” 

Connor smiles and pockets the keys. “Okay.”

Hank claps him on the shoulder - that’s the hardest part of this, honestly, how easy it is to touch him, the impulse to be more affectionate with him than he would someone else just because they’re partnered in this odd situation together.

But Connor never seems to mind - Connor is the one who keeps kissing his cheek every time he sees him, after all - kind of like how Connor doesn’t seem to mind Hank calling him baby, even if that’s more of an inside joke between them than anything. 

It’s a three year arrangement, with plenty of pretending involved. Lines are going to get blurred, Hank supposes. He shouldn’t be surprised.

Sumo barks when the doorbell rings, and Connor lets Kara and Alice in. “Luther is parking the car,” Kara says, wrapping her arms around Connor. “You doing okay?” 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I’m good.”

Sumo is sitting at Hank’s side when Alice wanders over. She doesn’t make eye contact, but she’s talking to Hank when she asks, “Can I pet him?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Hank says. “Here, I packed some treats for him. Want to give him one?” 

Alice nods shyly, and Hank pulls the sandwich bag of treats he brought in case Sumo started barking too much from his pocket. “He knows how to shake, if you put your hand out before you give it to him,” he tells Alice when he hands her one.

Alice offers Sumo her hand and laughs when he slaps his massive paw into it. “He’s nice,” she says, ruffling Sumo’s fur.

“He really likes kids. Want to give him another one? He can play dead, too.”

Alice nods, more at ease now, and when Luther lets himself into Connor’s apartment a few minutes later, she says, “Dad, look at what Sumo can do!” and holds her hand out to Hank for another treat like they’re old friends.

“You want to keep Sumo company while we pack Connor’s things up?” Hank asks her once she’s shown Luther every trick in Sumo’s (relatively small) book, and Alice smiles at him when she nods.

It doesn’t take long to load Connor’s things up with four of them - he doesn’t have much. An hour later, they’re standing in an empty apartment, and Kara’s voice cracks when she says, “I guess we should let you get on the road.” 

Connor hugs her, and then Luther. “I’ll call when I get in, okay?”

“You better keep in touch,” Kara says. “I’m serious.”

“I will. You’re family.” Connor kneels down to hug Alice, too, who’s making a brave show of holding back tears. “Look out for your parents, okay?” 

“Okay,” Alice says. “Don’t forget that you said you and Sumo would come visit me.”

“I won’t. I pinky promised.” Connor squeezes her shoulder. “Love you, sport.”

“I love you, too,” Alice whispers, and Connor hugs her again. 

“Hank,” Kara says softly at Hank’s side, knocking her elbow into Hank’s. “Take care of him. He doesn’t need it, but...do it anyway.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Yeah, I will.”

“Come on, Alice,” Luther says, holding out his hand to her and then hoisting her onto his shoulders.

She twists to wave to Connor one last time before they leave. 

“You okay?” Hank asks Connor once they’re alone, because his LED is spinning yellow, and Hank suspects it’s because he’s running a process to disable his saline tears

“Yes,” Connor squeezes Hank’s hand and then reaches for Sumo’s leash. “Let’s go home.”

They walk out together, and when Connor gives the apartment a last, long look before he shuts the door, Hank puts a gentle hand on his back and guides him forward.

Connor looks up at him with a small smile, but a warm one.

They leave the key to Connor’s apartment in the lobby lockbox, and once they’ve loaded Sumo into the back seat, Connor crosses around the front of the car to the driver’s side. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the license plate,” he says to Hank as he starts the car.

“I would never think you haven’t noticed something,” Hank says, amused. “I thought it was funny.”

“You’re _hilarious_ ,” Connor says dryly, but there’s a mirth in his eyes that Hank doesn’t miss.

Hank settles back in the passenger seat as they pull out of the lot and turn towards the highway. “Hey, don’t let me fall asleep on you, okay? It’s a long drive without company.”

“Okay.”

There’s a sign above them for the US border as they pull onto the highway - it’s still hundreds of miles away, but Hank catches Connor smiling when he sees it. 

* * *

Despite his instructions, Connor does let Hank sleep. They talk for the better part of the first hour of the drive, but Hank dozes off with his head against the window at the first lull in conversation, and Connor doesn’t try to wake him up.

He knows Hank had another early morning to come get him, and, if he was anything like Connor, an anxious night before it, too.

It was a good kind of anxious for Connor. There was some fear in it - fear of leaving Kara and Luther and Alice behind, fear of leaving the place he knows, even if he’s never been entirely happy there. Fear of returning to Detroit when he hardly spent any time there as someone who knew that he was alive. There are so many memories in the city of what he was, which is why Kara and Luther have both said they would never want to go back, even if they could. They like their fresh start.

Connor understands that. He’s just...never wanted an entirely fresh start the way so many of his people do. He understands the appeal, but he wants one built on what he had before. It probably comes back to how incapable he was, at his core, of leaving Hank behind, no matter what he told himself.

Hank and Sumo’s snoring combined is enough to keep Connor company for most of the drive, but a little after eight, well after dark, he reaches over and nudges Hank awake.

“Hey,” he says when Hank blinks blearily at him. “We’re getting close to border control. Do you want to stop and get dinner first?” 

“No, it’s okay,” Hank says. “Let’s get home so we have time to at least unload your bed. I can order something.”

“I don’t need to sleep tonight,” Connor says. “I was going to just hang out with Sumo on the couch. For old times’ sake, or whatever. So we can stop, if you want.” 

“It’s really okay.” Hank yawns and stretches his back, and then, because he hasn’t missed his mark with Connor hardly ever since the first few days he knew him, he says, “You okay? You seem nervous.”

Connor looks over at him. “Last week they detained an android who could cross legally for four days just because they didn’t think his papers looked right. They’ve done a lot of things like that. You have to know that.”

“Hey,” Hank reaches over and grasps the back of Connor’s neck, brushing his thumb through his hair. “Why don’t you pull over so we can switch sides? I can do the talking.”

“I can do it,” Connor says. He doesn’t even know that there will be any trouble, so it feels like a silly thing to be unsettled by. But the thought of it reminds Connor of the time he and Alice got pinned down while they were walking Rose’s poodle by neighborhood kids who wanted to “throw cans at the tin cans”, and of the time he and Kara had to duck inside a store because they knew they were being followed, and of the way one neighbor would watch him and Luther on their runs, the way Connor always had the distinct sense that the only reason they weren’t being fucked with is because no sane person looks at Luther and decides fuck with him. It reminds him of all the other times like it, because though they’ve been far less frequent in recent months, there was a time when they were many, and they leave their marks.

“I know you can do it. That doesn’t mean you have to.” Hank says, looking at Connor’s tight grip on the steering wheel. “Come on. There’s a rest stop at the next exit. Maybe I am hungry.”

Connor sighs, but he does pull off. The rest stop is right off the exit, and once they park, Connor leaves the car idling and stares at his hands on the wheel, even after Hank has gotten out and crossed around to the other side.

Hank opens the driver’s side door, and Connor sighs as he looks up at him. “I don’t like being afraid of this,” he admits.

“Yeah, I don’t like being afraid of shit either, but sometimes that’s just the way it is.” Hank reaches into the car to put a light hand on his shoulder, and Connor unfastens his seatbelt and lets him guide him out of the car.

Hank ruffles Connor’s hair affectionately before they trade places, and once Connor is in the passenger seat, he says, “Canada was better than here, but it wasn’t perfect.”

“Yeah.” Hank looks over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking space - notably without getting anything to eat. “I mean, I figured it wasn’t. You just never talked about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. It’s okay. It’s not like I could have done anything, and I get why you wouldn’t want to revisit it.” He gestures to the glovebox. “Can you get our travel documents out for me?”

Connor fishes them out and sets them on the console, looking over at Hank’s face as a pair of headlights illuminate it. “What are you afraid of?” he asks, even if he isn’t expecting an answer.

But Hank considers it, thoughtful. “I don’t know. After Cole died and Jen left, I was mostly afraid that all of this was for nothing, you know? We’re born, and we suffer, and it sucks, and then we die. Real nihilistic shit. But I don’t think the world is that unkind anymore. I’m not that bitter these days.” He shrugs. “But I guess I’m afraid I could get that bitter again.”

Connor spins his ring on his hand. “I don’t think you ever really thought this was for nothing. That’s not you.”

Hank thinks he stopped caring, but Connor has always known the root of his pain was that he still cared so much. 

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “Maybe not.”

Connor leans his head back against the seat and looks at Hank. "You didn't get dinner."

"I guess I didn't."

Connor didn't really think he was going to, he supposes. He wants to lean across the console and kiss him, but Hank is driving, and he's already told himself that he isn't going to ask him for any more than this, that if Hank wants this to be real, then he's in, then he'll risk it, but that this is fragile, and he doesn't want to ruin this or lose it.

"Thank you," he says instead, because he does appreciate it. 

"Don't worry about it," Hank says. "I've got you."

Yeah, Connor thinks. He supposes he does.

When they get to the border control terminal, Hank hands his passport and Connor's papers through the window, and the border control agent does about what Connor expected he might. He holds his flashlight to Connor's papers, scrutinizing them for a long moment, and then he shines the light into the cabin of the car at Connor, and then back at the papers again, like he wants to find something wrong.

The agent shines the light at Connor again. "This is your husband?" he asks Hank, who leans into the light, blocking Connor.

"Yeah. Says that on the papers. Do you need anything else, or are we good to go?"

There's a very particular tone of voice that Hank has down to a science, one that sounds friendly and like a threat all at once. 

The border control agent averts his eyes and hands their documents back to Hank. "Have a good night."

"Asshole," Hank says under his breath as he pulls away. "You okay?"

"I'm used to it," Connor says. He's stiff, only because he's had as many bad encounters with law enforcement as he has with neighbors and random people on the street. He knows his unease around anyone in a uniform is particularly ironic these days now that he's law enforcement, too, and maybe he'll figure out how to reconcile that once he gets back to work at the DPD, but for now, the fear and the paranoia remain.

He misses the night of Markus' protest, sometimes. He misses being able to fight back instead of always having to turn the other cheek. He doesn't like everything he did that night, but at least he was able to do something. 

Maybe that's part of why he wants to get back to the work he was designed to do. Maybe he just wants to feel like he's doing something for once.

"One of the last dates I went on," Connor says, and he doesn't know why he's telling Hank this story now, but it just comes. "The guy was...I don't know. He was polite when we were setting things up, but he got aggressive once we were out - he wanted me to come home with him, and he asked some questions I didn't care for because he was hoping I didn't have the upgrade and that he could fuck around with my wires. I could have gotten up at any time and left, but I stayed, because he was drinking, and I wanted him to get drunk enough to do something stupid."

Hank doesn't say anything, and he doesn't look at Connor, but he is listening, if his knuckle white grip on the steering wheel is any indication, so Connor continues. "Anyway. The parking lot was empty when we walked out, with no cameras, and he tried to put a hand on me, and I hit him so hard across the jaw that he just...crumpled. But that was what I wanted, you know? I knew he was going to do that, and I stayed, because I wanted to hit him. Because there were so many other times that I had to take similar shit, and I felt like taking that out on somebody." Connor shifts to face Hank. "Is that bad?"

"No," Hank says softly. He reaches across the console to squeeze Connor's arm. "He still did it."

"It feels bad," Connor says. "I didn't like how afraid of me people were after the revolution, but...sometimes I want them to be afraid of me. I don't like that."

"I think anyone who's afraid of you probably deserves to be," Hank says, as if it's that simple.

But maybe it is. Connor doesn’t know.

A moment of silence passes between them before Hank clears his throat and says, "You going to try to date in Detroit?"

Connor leans his head against the window, the light of his LED brightened by the reflection in the glass. "I don't think so," he says. "I never got much out of it. It was just..something to do."

"Yeah," Hank sighs. "That's about how I felt about it, too. It's hard to find a good one."

Connor lifts his head to look at him. "Yeah," he says softly. "It is."

They pull into Hank’s driveway a few minutes before nine, and Connor immediately occupies himself with taking the new house in. It’s modest, but nicer than the one Hank used to live in, and better cared for, too. There’s a wreath on the door, and landscaping around the house, and it looks like Hank might have mowed the lawn a few days ago.

And the porch light is on, like a beacon home.

“Well,” Hank says, gesturing vaguely at the house, “here it is.” He sounds self-conscious, like he’s worried Connor won’t be pleased with it, which is sweet. 

“It’s nice,” Connor says. “I like it.” 

“Not sure how good your taste is,” Hank replies. “You liked the old house, too.”

Connor shrugs. “Of course I did. It was safe, and nowhere else was.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Hank gets out of the car to open the garage door. “Need to get you a remote for your car!” he calls back as he lifts the door, which warms something in Connor for reasons he can’t possibly say, except that he likes how much this feels like his, too. Hank backs the trailer into the garage so they can lock Connor’s things up for the night and then gets out to unhitch the car.

“Are you sure you don’t want your bed in tonight?” Hank asks when Connor gets out to help him. “We have time.”

They do have time, but Connor would rather use it to sit on the couch with Hank and Sumo and do nothing instead.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I like the couch.” 

“Okay.” Hank opens the back door to let Sumo out. “Can you pull the car out and close the garage up? I’m going to let him out in the yard. The door is open.”

Hank claps his hip to get Sumo to follow him, and Connor watches them disappear inside the house, heart full. 

Hank is standing at the back door in the kitchen, watching Sumo in the yard, when Connor steps inside a few minutes later. Connor can’t help immediately looking at everything - most of the furniture is familiar, although the desk is new. Connor wanders through the living room, finds the first picture he and Hank ever took together with an old Polaroid camera on the bookshelves. Connor has a similar one packed with his things. They took them the day Hank drove him to Canada, before they left. Connor had said, “I don’t have a picture of you,” and Hank had said, “Don’t you kind of have a photographic memory by definition?”, and Connor had rolled his eyes and said, “It’s not the same.”

Hank didn’t have a printer at the time, so the polaroids were the best he could do.

Hank’s copy of that picture is tucked into the frame of one of their wedding pictures - not one of the many where they’re kissing each other, although they still couldn’t quite pass as friends unless someone knew better.

Connor likes that Hank has the pictures up.

There are a few photos of Cole and Jen on the walls, too - old vacation pictures and family portraits, things Hank had tucked deep away at the old house because looking at them hurt too much.

“You being nosy?” Hank asks behind him, and Connor turns to find him in the doorway.

“Just checking out my new digs,” Connor says with a wink. 

“Bedrooms are upstairs, if you want to go be nosy up there, too.”

Connor could kiss him right now. He could kiss him, and he could ask to sleep in Hank’s bed, and he could tell Hank to fuck him, and he thinks Hank would do all of that. But he would be doing it because he was unsettled by the interaction at border control, if only because he knew how easily it could go so much worse, because Hank’s is still the kindest touch he’s ever known and he needs that right now.

But Connor doesn’t want it to be that way. 

He doesn’t want to force Hank’s hand because he’s running from something else. That’s how people get hurt.

He does go upstairs, but the second bedroom is empty, and he forces himself not to do more with Hank’s than look at it from the door - although he can smell the scent of his cologne, strong on his laundry, even without stepping inside. Hank’s doesn’t wear much of it, but Connor’s processors are sensitive, and he’s grateful he’s so attuned to it - it’s a comforting scent, one that feels like that morning outside Chicken Feed, in the snow... 

Hank is toweling Sumo’s muddy paws off in the kitchen when Connor gets back downstairs. “You want me to order food for you?” Connor asks him.

“Sure. Surprise me.”

Connor orders Hank’s favorite Chinese food, and then he goes into the living room and sinks onto the familiar couch. Hank joins him a few minutes later, and Sumo pads across the room to lie in his bed, and it feels good, comfortable and warm. It’s a different house, but it still feels safe.

It’s been a good night, Connor thinks. And a good start.

It both surprises Connor and doesn’t how quickly they settle into a comfortable routine - he’s been gone for a while, but now that he’s home, it’s like he never left. Hank puts a game on that he missed earlier that day, and he sits with an arm across the back of the couch that gives the illusion that he has an arm around Connor, that he’s bracketing him in, and it’s good. It’s what Connor needs.

“Do you want me to go in to work late tomorrow?” Hank asks. “Help you unload the trailer first?” 

“It’s okay. There’s not much. I can manage.” Connor slips his shoes off and tucks his knees to his chest. “I could meet you for lunch, if you wanted.”

“Okay,” Hank says. “Where do you want to go?”

“Chicken Feed for old times sake? Now that I know I can try that weird pineapple soda you like and tell you for sure that it’s gross...”

Hank rolls his eyes. “Just when I was starting to enjoy marital bliss.”

Connor smiles at that and gets up to answer the door when the bell rings for Hank’s takeout.

Hank eats, and they watch the game, and afterwards, Connor says, “Can you prep me on the cases we’re working right now when you get home tomorrow? All of them?”

“Chris will...”

“I know. But I know some of them have been difficult, and I’d rather have the chance to prepare myself.”

 _And I’d rather hear about them here, from you_ , he doesn’t say. 

Hank lifts his hand from the back of the couch and squeezes Connor’s neck. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure. I’ll bring my work tablet home and show you the files.”

“Okay,” Connor says. “Thank you.”

“Chris and Tina want to take us out after work on Monday, too. Just a heads up. They’re calling it a makeshift bachelor party.”

Connor huffs a laugh. “Do you think they know we faked this?”

“I’m sure they think the timing is coincidental - us suddenly getting married right before you come home for a job - but that’s all they think. And if they suspect, it doesn’t make much difference.”

“I guess it doesn’t,” Connor says softly.

They put a show on after the game and let it roll on auto play, and maybe it shouldn’t surprise Connor, because he does know Hank usually goes to bed before midnight, when he looks over and finds Hank asleep beside him, body curved slightly towards Connor, head against the back of the couch.

Connor should wake him up before he hurts his neck. Instead, he shifts the smallest bit closer to him so he can listen to him breathing, a soothing rhythm. When Hank’s temple settles on Connor’s shoulder, Connor just kisses his hair and leans his cheek against the top of his head, closing his eyes even though he doesn’t have to sleep.

There are things he still thinks they need to settle between them - Hank needs to let go of his guilt for the things he said and did to Connor when they first met, and they need to talk about that year between then and now when they fell away from each other just a bit - Connor needs Hank to know how much it hurt him that Hank was willing to let him go, that he wanted Connor to move on from him, even though he knows that had more to do with Hank’s perception of his own value than of Connor’s.

Now that there’s no wedding to plan, they need to put those things to rest so they can move on. Hank needs that as much as Connor does, he thinks.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Connor lets Hank sleep against him, listening to him breathe, for a long time - longer than he should - before he wakes him up to go up to bed, and things look better than they have in months.

* * *

Connor is already up and unloading the trailer the next morning by the time Hank gets downstairs to let Sumo out. “Morning,” he calls in to Hank when he comes in from the garage and finds Hank in the kitchen as he’s on his way upstairs. “How’s your neck?”

Hank rolls his shoulders. “Could be worse.”

“Sorry. I should have woken you up sooner.”

“It’s okay. You’re bony, but you’re comfortable.”

“Aw,” Connor says, turning back to the stairs. “Have a good day at work. I’ll see you for lunch.”

“See you,” Hank calls after him.

He’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed that he fell asleep on Connor’s shoulder or that Connor let him stay there for as long as he did. Maybe it’s equal.

But Connor is as warm and accepting as he ever was, so...maybe it also isn’t so bad.

When Hank gets to work that morning, Tina is sitting on Chris’ desk across from his, and both of them look up at him, surprised. “Hey,” Chris says when Hank sets his bag down on his chair. “We were sure you were going to be late.”

“How late did you and Connor get in last night?” Tina asks.

“Nine, I think?” Hank says. “It wasn’t that bad. Just an early morning yesterday.”

“I’m sure you’re happy to have him home,” Chris says, because that’s the kind of earnest thing he’s always saying, even when Hank is pretty sure they both have their suspicions that it’s a green card marriage.

Hank still says, “Yeah, I am,” though, because the circumstances don’t make it any less true. He is glad to have Connor back.

“Hey, we got a lead on that possible Eden Club connection to our trafficking ring,” Tina says. “They had a dealer in interrogation last night who knew more about it.”

“Enough for us to do something about it?” Hank asks.

“Enough for a warrant, yeah,” Chris says. “We’ll spook them if we search the place, though. And I’d bet anything Eden Club itself is clean.”

“Yeah, I bet it is, too,” Hank says. 

This has been a difficult case, and the one that’s taken up most of their attention for the last few weeks. For months, they thought they just had individual android disappearances on their hands. It took a while for them to see the threads, but first it was dozens of them, and then nearing a hundred that they suspect are connected.

They think a black market ring is taking homeless androids from the streets, wiping their memories, reprogramming them, and selling them. People have quieted down since the violent riots that forced Connor’s hand in moving to Canada, but they haven’t stopped missing their way of life.

It’s insidious. Hank has told Connor about some of it, but he needs to tell him the rest tonight.

They’ve had their suspicions for the longest time that Eden Club, reopened with paid androids in 2039, is a hub for it somehow - a meeting place for buyers, or maybe just a way to launder the money the ring makes on android sales. They aren’t sure, but they’ve had a few tips in that direction, even if none of them have been helpful enough to advance their case.

“What’s the ring’s connection to the dealer?” Hank asks.

Chris and Tina exchange looks, and Tina says, “He says they’re a supplier.” 

“Of?”

“Of thirium. They syphon what they can off of the androids they’re modding and sell it to dealers to cook down to red ice.”

“Christ.” Hank scrubs a hand over his face.

“We were talking to Fowler,” Tina says. “There are a lot of people who bring their android partners to Eden Club these days, and we have Connor now. We could send him in undercover with Chris, and we could look around without being suspicious. And maybe he could get some of the androids there to talk? They won’t talk to us, but they might to him. Or maybe he’ll just find something else - his eyes are better than ours by design.”

“That’s a hell of a thing to tell him on his first day,” Hank says dryly, and Chris smiles sheepishly.

“We thought it might be better coming from you. If you want to do it, that is. It was Fowler’s idea, but he wanted your sign off on it.”

Hank doesn’t think this is meant to be a test on Jeff’s part, necessarily, but he does think he could fuck Connor’s job up for him right now if he isn’t careful. Jeff already went out on a limb for them bending fraternization rules, and if Hank comes up with some sorry excuse to decline this all because he doesn’t like the thought of putting Connor in that position, Jeff _will_ notice, and by the next week, one of them will be transferred to a precinct halfway across the city.

He doesn’t like having to make this request of Connor, but he knows his hands are tied.

“Okay,” Hank says. “We can bring Connor up to speed tomorrow, but it’s worth a try. You good for it, Chris?” 

“Yeah,” Chris says. “I can do it. We can call it new partner bonding for me and Connor, or something.”

It’s a good break for them in the case, but Hank spends the rest of the morning not feeling terribly grateful for it.

Connor picks him up for lunch like they planned, and when they’re alone in the car driving to Chicken Feed, Hank says, “Hey, listen. I know this is a lot, but we might need you and Chris to pretend to be a couple and go scout Eden Club for the trafficking ring case.”

Connor looks at him. “What?”

“We think Eden Club is involved. We need to get eyes on the place.”

“I didn’t mean that I don’t understand the purpose of it.”

Connor is troubled. That much is obvious as the silence stretches between them.

“I get that it’s a lot for a first case,” Hank says after a moment, “but can I ask what your specific concern is about it?” If he knows, they can figure it out. 

Connor shrugs, staring at his hands on the steering wheel as he says, “Mostly the objectification.”

“What do you mean?”

Connor sighs, shaking his head. “Have you ever been to one of those clubs? Aside from the night we went together?”

“No.” 

“I have. They’ve gotten worse, somehow. And if you want me to fit in, you won’t be sending me in a suit, if you see what I’m saying. I’m not sure how comfortable with that I am.”

Hank does. He gets it.

“You can say no,” he says, and Connor sighs again.

“Let me think about it.”

They don’t talk about it again. The tables have changed since the last time they were at Chicken Feed together, so Hank can’t do something as sentimental as choose to stand at the same one, but it still feels good, being there again. Hank eats, and Connor tries his pineapple soda and surprises him by saying, “Actually, it’s not awful,” and after Connor drives him back to the station, Hank doesn’t see him again until he gets home at 7:30.

The trailer Hank rented is parked on the curb, and Connor’s car is in the garage when Hank pulls in, so he assumes he’s finished unpacking. He finds Connor on the couch playing an old shooter - he’s disgustingly good at video games, all that android precision and accuracy - with Sumo curled up next to him, and some delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen.

“Made you dinner,” Connor says without looking away from the screen.

“You didn’t have to...” Hank starts, and now Connor does pause the game so he can twist and look at him over the back of the couch.

“I know. I wanted to.” His tone isn’t particularly sharp, but it also doesn’t leave much room for argument. 

Hank sets his work tablet down on the coffee table. “All of our case files and my notes are on there, if you want to look through them. I can answer any questions you have.”

“Thank you.” Connor gets up and follows him into the kitchen, leaning against the table while Hank gets a bowl from the cupboards. 

“Curry?” Hank asks, and Connor nods.

“Hopefully you weren’t lying about liking it.”

“Of course I wasn’t.”

Connor waits behind him while Hank spoons a portion into his bowl, quiet enough that Hank is getting ready to ask if he’s okay when Connor says, “I thought about it.”

 _Oh_.

Hank glances over his shoulder. “About what?”

He doesn’t know why he’s pretending not to know, and apparently Connor doesn’t, either. “You know what.”

“You don’t want to do it, do you?” Hank has already spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out how to decline this on Connor’s behalf to Jeff, to decide exactly how much he should share about all the ways Connor has been hurt and all the reasons he’s not as good a choice to send in as he seems like. They can get another android, maybe, hire someone... 

Connor lifts his chin. “No. I’ll do it. But I want you to come with me.”

Hank turns around and gapes at him. “You know I can’t sell that to Jeff. It’s messy enough just having us in the same unit. Chris is a good detective; he’ll watch your back every bit as well as I would...” 

“I’m not worried about that,” Connor says. “I can watch my own back.”

Yeah, of course he can. Hank leans back against the counter, setting his bowl aside. “Then what are you worried about?”

Connor scrubs a hand over his face. “Hank, I spent the first three months of my life being handled by technicians and programmers at CyberLife, and by law enforcement officers at crime scenes, and sometimes even just by people on the streets, all because I have an LED spinning in my head and that made everyone think they owned a piece of me and had the right. It was exhausting. I like Chris - he was decent to me at a time when most people weren’t, and I’m sure he is a good cop. But I don’t know him at all, really, and I don’t like being touched like that by people I don’t know. And if I have to go in there and act like a thing that’s owned - because all those clubs are the same, and that’s how androids always act when they’re there, and why I’ve never been back - then I want to pick who I do it with.” He pushes his hair out of his face, LED spinning yellow. “I know this is important, and I want to do it. I just...need you to help me.” 

There’s so much to unpack in so few words, and Hank doesn’t begin to know where to start, but Connor is doing that thing where he somehow looks strong and fragile at once, so instead of trying, Hank just crosses the room to him and wraps his arms around him. 

“Okay,” he says softly, because fuck, he doesn’t know how to hold his ground here. “I’ll figure out how to sell it to Jeff.” He’s not entirely optimistic that he can, but he doesn’t tell Connor that - they can find a way that doesn’t involve Connor, if it comes to that, even if their first choice is obviously to have their own people scouting the place.

Connor nods against him. “Thank you.”

Hank is so distracted by the weight Connor carries around with him and how much his past plainly hurts that he doesn’t think about the full implications of this until later, when the dishwasher is running and they’re sitting on the couch together.

“Connor,” Hank says, getting him to lift his head and look over at him. “What do...uh. What do people usually do at those clubs?”

Connor huffs a little laugh at that. “Isn’t it obvious? They’re still sex clubs.” 

Hank must look clueless, because Connor sighs and shifts on the couch, pushing himself into Hank’s lap and seating himself there as he threads his arms around his neck. He gives him a pointed look as he says, “Mostly, we’re going to do this...just with a lot more of your tongue in my mouth. And you’re not going to act like you’re not allowed to touch me like you are now.” He grasps Hank’s hands and puts them on his hips. “Sound good?”

Hank’s mouth is dry, and it takes a moment to get the word, “Sure,” to form.

Connor smiles at that, swinging himself neatly off Hank’s lap and clapping him on the shoulder as he passes around the couch. “Good,” he says. “I’m going to go to bed, okay? I need a few hours of stasis time tonight.”

“Okay,” Hank says. He still sounds flustered even just to his own ear, so he forces a joking note into his voice when he says, “Night, baby.”

He can hear the little smile in Connor’s voice when he says, “Goodnight, Hank.”

Hank stares at the TV without watching it, and he thinks maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, for entirely different reasons than what he originally thought.

He sits there for a long while, listening to Connor getting ready for bed upstairs and looking at nothing, even well after he hears Connor’s bedroom door close and everything goes quiet.

Well, he thinks. So much for trying not to think of Connor romantically. 

It’s honestly not just Connor climbing into his lap like he belongs there, either - although, fuck, that’s a _big_ part of it. It was Connor saying last night that it’s hard to find a good one, and everything before that made Hank realize how unhappy Connor actually was in Canada. He spent so much time thinking Connor was dating so much because he was being wild and carefree with his new-found freedom, but really he was just trying to fill the empty space even if he already knew none of those people he went out with would.

Hank was so fucking intimidated by Connor’s new life, and so sure Connor was leaving him behind and only keeping in touch out of courtesy. He feels stupid that he didn’t see that same sadness and loneliness he knows so well in Connor, but by that same token, Connor never let him.

Hank wishes he had let him. 

He feels heavy when he gets up to go upstairs, Sumo lumbering after him. He has to walk past Connor’s room to get to his, and he hesitates in front of the closed door. He shouldn’t, but he opens it, quiet and slow, and looks inside.

When Hank used to think of Connor in stasis, back when they first met, he imagined him upright and rigid, very obviously robotic, but that’s not how Connor looked the day after Markus’ protest when he fell asleep on Hank’s couch, and it’s not how he looks now. He’s curled on his side facing the door, legs tucked at the knee, LED casting a pale blue over his face.

He looks calm and untroubled, and Hank thinks about climbing into the empty space beside him and wrapping his arms around him, because somebody should touch Connor with the kindness he deserves, and he’s glad, at least, that Connor trusts him to. 

He doesn’t. Some of it is all that concern about their arrangement, about wanting to be there for Connor in this way first and not wanting to risk fucking it up somehow when Connor is relying on him.

But most of it is just because, like usual, he isn’t brave enough. 

Hank tempts fate too long standing there, because a few moments later, Connor’s LED cycles yellow and he opens his eyes.

“Hank?”

“Hey,” Hank says softly. “Sorry. I was just going to see if you needed anything before I go to bed.”

It’s bullshit, and Connor probably knows it’s bullshit. Hank half-expects him to do something bold and reckless and intentionally designed to get under Hank’s skin with that knowing little smile of his, to say point blank, “You were watching me,” or to ask, “Did you want to join me?” with that joking edge that Hank isn’t always sure is a joke at all.

But Connor is feeling kind, maybe, or maybe he just knows less than Hank thinks he does, because instead he sits up and says, “Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Hank says. “Yeah. I’m good, sweetheart.”

It comes too easily and without thinking, the nickname they haven’t agreed on. Connor just smiles and lays his head back down. “That’s a new one.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind,” Connor says softly. “Good night, Hank.”

“Yeah.” Hank reaches for the door to pull it closed. “Night.”

He isn’t sure if Connor wants him or if he’s just seeing that same flirty cleverness that he’s always known in Connor, if Connor is playing into their ruse a little too hard sometimes or if he’s just as glad as Hank is not to be alone anymore. Hank doesn’t know, and he wishes he did.

What Hank _does_ know is that he doesn’t think he has it in him to go three years without kissing Connor again, no matter how he wants to prioritize their arrangement. And that would be very foolish of him, because he could fuck all of this up instead.

Even if Connor wants him - and Hank has trouble believing he does - it’s not like he hasn’t fucked relationships up before.

He supposes the operation at Eden Club is a blessing in that way, as long as he can get Jeff to go for it, even if it will probably be torture, too. At least he can pretend.

Small mercies, or something. 

Hank spends the night staring at the clock, and at the empty space beside him. He spends it thinking about the solid weight of Connor in his lap, and how incredible he thinks Connor is for wanting to do this at all, and he barely sleeps, but that’s okay. 

He’s used to it, after all, the way his mind runs at nights and won’t let him rest. He’s known this cycle for years.

At least these thoughts are happier.

(And if they weren’t, at least, for once, he isn’t alone here.)

* * *

There’s a slight split in Hank and Connor’s schedules, the way Jeff told him there would be, but for Connor’s first few days he let them work the same hours. He said he was trying to be decent to Connor and give him a chance to get acclimated to the whole team, but Hank just thinks he’s softer than he wants to let on.

Whatever the reason, Hank is grateful for it as he and Connor drive into the DPD together. Connor thumbs through Hank’s music, and it takes most of the drive there before he finally settles on something. He’s gracious enough not to mention Hank watching him sleep or pulling additional nicknames for him out of nowhere, and Hank is grateful for that, too.

At least the slight embarrassment about his multitude of mistakes the previous evening stops Hank from dwelling too hard on the thought of talking to Jeff about the change of plans in the Eden Club operation, which would be occupying every last ounce of his energy otherwise.

He’s not _nervous_ , exactly. But he does know Jeff isn’t going to like it.

(He knows Jeff is probably right not to like it, too. It’s a _severe_ conflict of interest.)

But he just doesn’t think they would get the same results from hiring an android, and so he knows it has to be done.

Connor turns down the music a few blocks away from the DPD, and Hank thinks he’s going to do that thing where he reads Hank’s mind, that he’s gearing up to ask Hank what’s bothering him.

Instead, he slouches back in his seat - the most obvious difference in Connor since his deviation is his posture - and says, “I’m nervous.”

It’s almost a welcome distraction - Hank is so much better at being supportive than he is at talking about what’s troubling him - even if he’s sorry that Connor has his own worries preoccupying him.

“About work?” he asks, and Connor nods.

“The last time I saw Tina, I was playing possum in the break room so Gavin Reed would let up and leave me alone.”

“I know,” Hank says. “I promise that’s not her. And even if it was then, a lot can change in a year.”

Hank pulls into the lot and parks the car, looking over at Connor once he does. Connor doesn’t say anything, just retrieves his payroll documents from the dash and then leans over to kiss Hank’s cheek. 

“I’m okay, I promise,” he says softly before he gets out of the car, and Hank is left with the briefest moment to wonder if maybe Connor knew he needed the distraction from his own thoughts.

Hank honestly wouldn’t put it past him.

Chris and Tina are waiting at Connor’s desk when they get inside - they have a welcome banner strung across the side of it, and they look genuine, even if Hank thinks they all probably feel a little awkward here. It’s no one’s fault, but the last time they were all at the DPD, the circumstances were difficult, and Hank suspects that discomfort might linger for a while before they figure out how to move past it.

Chris moves first, because he’s good that way, warm and welcoming. “Hey, Connor,” he says, shaking Connor’s hand and pulling him in to wrap an arm around him and clap him on the back. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“It’s good to be back,” Connor says when they part.

Tina scuffs the toe of her shoe across the floor. “Hey,” she says. “I feel like we got off to a bad start, maybe. I’m sorry about that.” 

Connor shakes his head. “I got off to a worse start with him,” he says, nodding at Hank. “I think we’ll be fine.”

Tina looks relieved at that - honestly, Hank thinks it’s a sign of her good character that she feels so sorry for something as small as not saying anything to Gavin, especially at a time when so few people suspected androids were alive at all. She moves around Connor’s desk and opens the bottom drawer. “Hank said you can drink? We got you a whole assortment of canned things. We tried to get some of those thirium-based teas, too, but they’re really hard to find in stores.” 

“That’s okay - they’re wildly overpriced anyway,” Connor says. “Thank you. This is thoughtful.”

“Chris, can you walk Connor down to HR?” Hank says. “I need to talk to Jeff about something.”

“About Eden Club?” Tina asks, interested.

“Yeah. Just sit tight, okay? I’ll update you once I talk to him. Just need his approval on something.”

Hank sets his things down at his desk, and Connor mouths, “Good luck,” to him before he turns and follows Chris down the administration hallway.

Jeff is alone in his office, so Hank opens the door without knocking. “Hey,” he says. “You have a second?”

Jeff looks up. “When did you get here? I was going to come out and say hi to Connor...”

“Just now,” Hank says. “Chris took him down to HR a while.” He seats himself in one of Jeff’s chairs, propping his ankle on his knee. “Can I talk to you about something?” 

“About Eden Club?” Jeff asks, because of course he expects this, even if he probably thinks Hank is here to say they shouldn’t send Connor at all.

“Yeah.”

Jeff sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s hear it. You don’t want to send Connor because...?” 

Hank hates being right sometimes. “I want to send Connor. But I think it’s a difficult assignment for him, for a number of reasons, and it’s his first one, too. And Chris doesn’t have any undercover experience. I want you to make an exception just this once and send me in with him.”

“Hank, come on. I told you very clearly that I can’t have you two partnered together... _especially_ not undercover. Do you have any idea how fast IA will descend on us if they realize...”

“I know,” Hank says. “Trust me, I know. But we can be objective. Look, let us go once on observation. We won’t engage anyone or do anything; we’ll just watch. We don’t even have to put it on the records. If we get something worthwhile, you can decide if it’s worth it to you to send us in again.”

“The proposal was for Connor to go in with Chris.”

“And I’m telling you that won’t work.”

“If Connor can’t work with his partner, then maybe...”

“Jesus Christ, don’t say maybe he shouldn’t be a cop,” Hank says, because he’s heard this lecture before. “You don’t think that. You tracked him down and personally offered him a job here.”

“That was before I knew you were going to end up married to him,” Jeff grumbles. “He really won’t do it?”

“He’s not the one declining,” Hank says. “I am. Cut me some slack here, okay? It’s his first case, and it’s a unique situation. You don’t know half of what he’s been through. You put me in charge of that unit, so let me look out for my people.” 

Jeff sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I swear to god, all you better do is watch.”

“Yeah,” Hank says quickly. “We will.”

“And I need you both to understand I won’t approve anything like this again once this case is closed. And for fuck’s sake, you better produce results that make this easier to pass by IA if they get involved.”

“He’s a good detective,” Hank says. “You know that. We’ll get you what you need.”

Jeff sighs begrudgingly. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Hank really can’t argue with that.

Chris takes being backed off the operation well, all in all. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he says when Hank tells him, which is how Hank realizes he didn’t really want to go at all. He sees the look on Hank’s face, maybe, because he says, “Sorry. I would have done it if you asked me to, but my poker face is shit.”

Hank shrugs. “Probably is for the best, then.”

It’s relatively clear that both Chris and Tina don’t quite understand how Hank convinced Jeff with the conflict of interest, and Hank can certainly understand the confusion. He knows all too well he and Connor are only allowed to go in together because they aren’t _really_ married, but of course he doesn’t say that.

Connor has a good first day, as far as Hank can tell. They both try to keep a professional distance from each other, but Chris spends the whole day with Connor, briefing him and trying to get to know him better, and it’s clear Tina is trying to be welcoming, too.

The four of them go out for drinks after work - Chris keeps calling it a belated bachelor party, which Hank wishes he wouldn’t, but he can’t say that. They go to some fancy cocktail bar uptown, and it gives Hank the opportunity to feel proud of himself for being far enough removed from his bad habits that he can go to a bar without wanting to drink. 

He spends the night, soda in hand, learning that Connor is better and more natural at faking their relationship than he is. He’s not hanging all over Hank, but he’s good about the little things that make it look real - standing a few inches closer to him so their arms brush together, touching Hank’s arm for emphasis while he talks, putting a warm hand on Hank’s back every now and then. 

Hank knows Fowler is worried about the Eden Club operation, and irritated that Hank twisted his hand, but Hank is sure Connor isn’t going to let them down.

And all Hank really needs to do, at least for right now, is be there with him.

He knows why Jeff is worried, but they’ll be fine.

* * *

Connor isn’t being sarcastic when he asks Hank if he wants to practice for Eden Club, even if he’s pretty sure Hank thinks he is considering the way he scoffs at it.

“I think I can manage putting my hands on your ass without practice,” Hank says, and Connor shrugs. 

“I meant we should be aware of our angles for observation before we get in there.”

“Listen,” Hank says, “if you need a better angle, you just put me where you want me, okay? I’m responsive.”

And that’s the end of the conversation, although Connor spends the next few days thinking about “I’m responsive,” with a bit of heat in his processing cores.

Eden Club is busiest on Saturdays, so that’s when they’re planning to go. “Do you need...a costume, or something?” Hank asks on Friday, but Connor shakes his head.

“I’ve got it.” Hank is gaping at him, so he adds, “I’ve been to one before, remember?”

Hank hasn’t asked about the circumstances around Connor’s last visit to someplace like this, up in Canada, and Connor is grateful for that. There isn’t much to tell, really - it was just another stop on his search for something he was never going to find - but he’s grateful not to have to explain it, at least right now. He wasn’t doing well at the time.

He doesn’t know why he kept the lingerie when he hated the experience so much, but early Saturday evening, while Hank is in his bedroom getting ready, Connor digs the blue corset and the little black spandex shorts out of his dresser. They were in the back of his closet in Canada for the longest time, because he didn’t care for the one time he wore them out and he wasn’t planning to again - but he supposes maybe he should just be grateful that he isn’t out charging lingerie to his corporate credit card.

Connor stands in front of the mirror for the longest time once he’s dressed, hands on his hips, assessing himself and trying to decide if he looks okay, until Hank appears in the doorway.

“Hey,” Hank says. “We should...”

Whatever he was going to say dies on his lips. 

Connor smiles, turning around and leaning back against the dresser in time to follow the line of Hank’s throat as he swallows.

“You look good,” Hank says, and isn’t that something, that Connor has gotten so many compliments on this that he didn’t care for, but when the words come from Hank, he doesn’t mind.

He smiles softly and says, “Thank you. So do you.”

And of course Hank does - the dark suit fits well, clearly bought recently, worn now without a tie and the first few buttons of his shirt undone.

When Connor suggested practicing, he actually wasn’t nearly as worried about Hank’s ability to put his hands on his ass or their angles as he was about his own need to stop himself from running endless distracting preconstructions of all the other things they could do...but oh well. He’ll just have to figure it out.

“You ready to go?” Hank asks, and Connor nods, retrieving his black blazer from the bed and tucking it over his arm.

Hank puts a hand on Connor’s back to guide him out, his fingers hot where they brush the inch of skin exposed over the waistline of his shorts. 

Connor shivers and wishes all over again that he’d had the chance to calibrate his sensitivity settings much lower a few days ago. That was another reason he wanted to practice. He didn’t want to push Hank to let him climb into his lap, but fuck, it would have helped.

As things are, it’s going to be a long night. 

They take Hank’s car, and Connor rides in the passenger seat, passing a coin from Hank’s cup holder between his hands. They left their wedding rings at the house - Eden Club isn’t really a place that most married couples go - and he misses having it on his finger to spin. 

Hank can tell he’s restless, probably, because he looks over and says, “Want me to wear the booty shorts next time?”

It’s a joke, and it does get a small laugh out of Connor (even if the answer is yes, he would like that very much). “That’s not really the scene, Hank.” 

“What, is there some kind of rule at the door? Androids in pretty things or no entry?”

“No,” Connor says. “It’s more of an unspoken thing. Clubs like that appeal to humans who miss being able to rent an android for the night and androids who wish things would go back to the way they were.There are so many of them who never deviated on their own and had to be forcibly woken up after the revolution, who just really struggled adapting to the new world, so it helps them, pretending nothing has changed. That’s their prerogative, obviously - as long as they’re being safe, and their boundaries are being respected, different sexual interests are part of being alive.” Connor sighs, flipping the coin back into the cupholder. “But we would look very out of place if we changed outfits, is what I’m trying to say. It’s not the dynamic most couples there have.”

Hank could ask him again about why he ever went to a place like that in the first place, but again, he doesn’t, even if Connor does think he can see him wondering about it.

“Sorry,” Hank says instead, and Connor reaches for his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “It doesn’t feel nearly as bad with you.”

Eden Club has had a number of renovations since the last time Connor was here with Hank, but the layout hasn’t changed. They walk in through the same doors, past android dancers on the same poles, although the rental pods are gone. Connor understands why it might feel good for androids to do this work or visit a place like this still - why getting paid for it and having ownership of their bodies in this setting might feel cathartic, like they’re reclaiming something.

He just doesn’t tend to like the other people who tend to show up at clubs like this.

“We should get something to drink,” Connor says to Hank over the music. “And find somewhere dark to sit.” 

“Come on.” Hank wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulders, a comforting weight, as they cross the room.

When they have their drinks, they go back to the blue room - still the same carpet, but there are walled off seating areas and tables where there used to be android rental pods. 

They’re trying to watch the staff entrance for now - they don’t know for sure there’s staff involvement in their case from Eden Club, but it seems unlikely the trafficking ring is using the business without some kind of connection.

It works in their favor that it’s an area well removed from the bar and the dance floor, and that they pass one other couple that clearly came back here to make out. It probably happens often - Connor doubts they’ll stand out.

“Here,” Connor says when he finds a table with a good viewpoint of the staff door. He quietly directs Hank where he needs him to go on the couch and then slides in beside him. He takes a deep sip of his drink and then shrugs out of his jacket.

He can feel how warm Hank is beside him, and he dials his sensitivity back blindly to start with, just for good measure. He already knows he isn’t going to be able to concentrate unless it’s significantly muted.

“Can you see?” Hank asks beside him, and Connor looks at him with a smile.

“The same things you can from here.” It’s actually a decent vantage point - Hank has a good view of the bar, and the VIP lounge, but Connor can’t watch the staff door without...

Hank takes a sip of his soda. “Whenever you’re ready, baby.”

Connor loves that, Hank’s calm, easy energy, how he carries it with him even in places like this. 

He loves it enough that he puts a hand on his neck and pulls him in to kiss him, because he can.

Connor is still analyzing the muted taste of Hank’s mouth when he shifts and climbs into his lap. He lowers his sensitivity again when Hank puts his hands on his thighs, because he can still feel enough that it’s distracting him.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I’m ready.”

Connor is, admittedly, thinking more about kissing Hank than he is about watching the door, more about the glide of Hank's tongue over his than keeping an eye open, and definitely more about Hank's fingers pressing into his bare skin than the case as a whole. 

He still doesn't really want to be here, but he wants Hank like this.

(He wants him like this more than just here, too, but that's a thought for another time.)

Connor rocks his hips forward, even though his sensitivity is turned down enough that it isn't going to do anything for him. He's mostly just trying to move with it, press himself into Hank in a way that feels natural - although he doesn't do it more than twice before Hank catches his hip in his hand. "I'm going to need you to take it easy on me, okay?" he asks softly. "I can't turn this shit off the way you can." 

And to think, there was a time Connor thought Hank’s capacity for bluntness didn’t extend to talking about himself. He thinks maybe the therapy in rehab was good for him in that regard.

He stills, curling himself into Hank and kissing the hinge of his jaw. "Sorry," he whispers. "I'm not trying to make this awkward."

Hank snorts at that. "I don't feel _awkward_. I just feel like we have a long night and that we should go easy."

Connor nods, puts his hands on Hank's face and kisses him again, gentler this time. He manages not to think too much about Hank being worried about getting hard with him in his lap - although he would very much like to let that thought get stuck on a loop, and he will once they're home again and he's alone.

Hank is better at this, and far more task-oriented about it, than Connor is, which is an ironic turn of events considering the way they used to work together. He kisses the column of Connor's neck, which lets him look over Connor's shoulder and gives Connor a clear vantage point.

Connor sinks back into him, taking the lapel of Hank's jacket in one hand and slipping the other into Hank's hair. He wishes he could stop the little sigh that escapes him when he tilts his head to give Hank better access.

"How did you know I adjusted my sensitivity?" he asks softly, because, like Hank said, it's going to be a long night, and a longer one if they don't talk.

Hank hums against him. The scratch of his beard on Connor's skin is so much, even with all of his sensory feedback muted. It's so much.

"I mean," Hank says, "it's what I would do."

"Hm. That's fair," Connor replies. 

He doesn't mention what they're hedging around - that he likes Hank's hands on him, and that Hank seems to want him, too. Everything is muddied by the circumstances, but Connor does think it's interesting, something to file away for later.

He occupies himself running heat scans of the staff and storage areas, mostly because Hank is still at his neck and if he dwells on that sensation too much, he won’t be good for much else. He’s clocked four humans and an android, and he’s working on trying to identify the android model by heat signature, just in case it’s relevant, when Hank says, “Shit, sorry.”

“What?”

“Your neck. I didn’t know your skin did that.”

Connor lifts his hand to the left side of his neck. He didn’t notice the discrepancy under Hank’s mouth, but his synthskin has receded. “Oh. It’s okay. It’ll restore itself in a minute or two. It’s just a response to the stimulation.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good.”

Connor doesn’t expect Hank to touch the exposed chassis, for their fingers to brush as he drops his own hand, but that’s exactly what happens. He shivers when Hank brushes his thumb over the cool plastic of his chassis, canting his head to the side without thinking about it so Hank can see better.

“Huh,” Hank says. “It’s like a fucky android hickey.”

“Kind of. Too weird?”

“Nah. It’s cute.” Connor also doesn’t expect Hank to lean in and kiss the exposed plastic, gently laving his tongue over it, but...it seems like he’s curious.

(Connor likes that he’s curious.)

“Does that feel different to you?” Hank asks, and Connor leans down to nip at his ear in a small punishment for distracting him.

“Watch the bar.”

“I’m watching the bar. I can multitask.”

Connor smiles despite himself. “Yes. It feels different.”

“Huh.”

Connor is busy running preconstructions of the things they could do if they rented a private room, because there are still plenty of them in the club, or if they just went back to their house. He wants to unbutton Hank’s shirt a few more buttons and slip his hands inside to feel warm skin, to have more room to sprawl out so he can touch more of him.

He wants other things, too.

He’s still thinking about that when Hank taps his leg and says, “You’re red. You have anything?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. “I’m running heat signatures on the back area.” A lie, but he already has the data, and he’s running a process in the background comparing the temperature specifications of different models - some of them run hotter than others. 

“Anything interesting?”

“I’m not sure. There are four humans back there, and an android. I’m trying to determine the model, but probably just staff. There hasn’t been any movement in or out of that hallway, which might be odd, but I don’t know.” 

“Can you do anything with the security cameras?”

Connor sits back and looks at Hank while he analyzes the security systems. “Probably not without being noticed. And we don’t have a warrant if I am.” 

“Shame.” Hank runs a hand up Connor’s side. “You doing okay? With being here, I mean.”

“I’m okay.” Connor smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’m giving Chris a chance, but you’re still my favorite partner. I’m glad I’m doing this with you.”

“Yeah. You’re mine, too.” Hank maneuvers Connor easily in his lap so he can follow someone’s movements over his shoulder.

Connor is opening his mouth to ask Hank if he thinks Fowler will send them back if they don’t progress the case at all tonight - partially out of curiosity, and partially because he’s being selfish - when one of the heat signatures, the android’s, starts slowly falling.

“You have something?” Hank asks when Connor goes still in his lap.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “The android isn’t maintaining their body temperature.”

“What does that mean?” 

Connor shakes his head. “They could have lowered their temperature intentionally if they were having trouble regulating for some reason? Excessive exertion, maybe.”

But the scan comes back another degree lower, and Hank looks up to see Connor’s furrowed brow. “Or?”

“Or they’re sedated.”

 _Or dead_ , but Connor doesn’t say that. If this is related to the trafficking ring, it wouldn’t fit the way they function.

“Shit,” Hank says, and Connor shifts off his lap to sit close at his side.

“I’m going to try to hack their cameras so we can see back there.”

His LED goes red the moment he probes at the camera in the back, a distracting color in the blue of the room, so Hank wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in. “Here,” he whispers. “Tuck your head against me so no one notices your light show.”

Connor doesn’t protest. He’s unsettled, and Hank’s warmth is grounding.

Hank cards his fingers idly through his hair while he tries to hack the surveillance camera in the staff area, probably just because he knows they’ll look odd to anyone walking past if they’re too still, although Connor is grateful for it anyway. 

Hank bends to kiss his forehead and to hide his mouth at the same time when he says, “Can you get it?”

“Hold on.” Connor is trying to overwrite the code so his accessing the camera won’t be recorded in the logs, or worse, trip the alarm. It’s an advanced security system, and it’s difficult. It’s almost impossible. 

“Fuck,” Connor whispers into Hank’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can get in.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m an advanced android model, not a wizard,” Connor says dryly. He lifts his head to meet Hank’s eyes. “Why would they have a surveillance system this advanced if there wasn’t anything to see back there?”

They both already know the answer, but Hank still says it. “They wouldn’t. Can you follow the heat signatures, at least?”

“Yeah. They’re moving out by the dock. Loading up, maybe? The android’s body temperature is still falling.”

“If they leave, we’re going back there.” 

Connor gives Hank a reproving look. “You know we’re only allowed to look,” he hisses, but Hank just shrugs.

“Yeah, and that’s all we’re going to do, but you need to look at that scene while we have it, if it is one.”

“I already told you I can’t do anything about the security cameras.”

“Connor,” Hank says, like he’s missing something obvious, “do you have _any_ idea how many ‘staff only’ doors I’ve gone through because I was looking for somewhere to hook up with someone?” He hooks a finger under the strap of Connor’s corset and tugs. “Maybe you just look too good to wait until we get home.”

Connor stares at him, mouth dry. “That could work.”

“Yeah, I know it could,” Hank says with a laugh.

“You’re good at this.”

“Been doing it for a while, baby.”

Maybe Connor actually wants to drag Hank down that hall, investigation aside. Maybe he’s that impressed by an idea he didn’t think of first, or maybe he’s just realizing that he forgot how good Hank is at his job when he wants to be and finding himself appreciating it all over again.

Either way, he doesn’t think cameras on them will be a problem. 

Connor puts a hand on Hank’s leg after a few minutes of watching the heat signatures. “They’re moving,” he says. “Two of the humans are pulling out, and one is coming back...” He hoists himself into Hank’s lap hurriedly - he can run facial analysis on the third person’s face if he sees it.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, tangling a hand in Hank’s hair and pulling him to the column of his throat in the moment before the door opens.

Hank wasn’t lying about being responsive to instructions, Connor realizes.

A man walks out of the staff corridor, a face Connor doesn’t recognize and that doesn’t return a criminal record. 30’s, well-dressed, used to work for CyberLife...

“Watch him,” Connor mutters to Hank once he’s a few paces past, ducking to take the lobe of Hank’s ear between his teeth so Hank can see over his shoulder. 

“He’s saying something to the bartender,” Hank says under his breath. “He’s leaving.”

Connor chances a glance over his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Hank says, patting Connor’s hip and gently pushing him off his lap. “Come on. We should go while the scene is fresh.” 

Connor grabs his jacket to tuck over his arm and lets Hank take his hand and thread their fingers together as they slip from the booth. He checks their surroundings while they walk, but they’re alone except for the cameras. 

“Just push me wherever you need to be to see, okay?” Hank says softly as they cross the room.

“Okay,” Connor whispers back.

Hank squeezes his fingers when they reach the door. “Make it look good.”

Hank opens the door for them, and Connor presses him back against the wall the moment they’re through it, kissing him hungrily. “Like this?” he asks in a whisper too low for the camera to catch.

Hank takes Connor’s face in his hands and nods against him. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Like that, baby.”

Connor grins despite himself and takes a fistful of Hank’s jacket, pulling him away and walking him backwards, thinking that it’s some kind of irony that they’re here, again, in the exact same room. The Eden Club scene in 2038 wasn’t the first time Hank saw something in him, but it was, maybe, the first time Connor saw something in himself that he couldn’t quite rationalize.

He thought about Hank saying, “Maybe it’s better this way,” so many times in the days that followed, and even in Canada, too, when things didn’t seem better at all and he needed some reassurance they were.

Hank thinks about what else happened that night at the park, about all the ugly things, but Connor just thinks about that single isolated moment that he’s leaned on so many times.

Connor can’t think about that long, even if he thinks faster than most. Hank has an arm around him and he’s walking him backwards down the corridor while they kiss messily, and it isn’t long before Connor’s back hits the door to the storage area.

He looks at Hank when they part, at his swollen lips and the blue of his eyes, and he presses another kiss to his mouth before he reaches behind himself to open the door.

Connor lets Hank take control the moment they’re inside so he’s free to scan what he needs to, working the area over for any traces of thirium or any other signs of a struggle or hints about the android’s identity. And it’s an opening that Hank takes advantage of, crowding Connor back against the wall and kissing a line along his jaw.

“Can you see?” Hank asks in a low whisper, and Connor nods, wrapping his arms around Hank’s shoulders and clinging to him.

“Yeah, this is good,” he says softly. “I’m just...”

He was going to explain that he’s running a broad scan, but it dies in a weak moan, even with his sensitivity adjusted, when Hank presses his finger against the access port at the back of his neck just right.

Connor watches Hank’s gaze darken as the heat ignites in his own belly, and he wonders if it would really be so bad, such a risk to what they already have, to pull Hank into his bed with him later that night...

Something lights up across the room in Connor’s ocular display, a positive result for trace thirium. When he narrows his focus, he can see the blue blood on the floor. He needs to get closer, so he takes Hank by the hand and winds their fingers together, making himself look appropriately playful as he pulls him across the room. 

The angles here are tricky. Connor has been careful to keep his face hidden - it’s been a while since then, but there was a time that his face was all over every news channel, and especially if their suspect is a former CyberLife employee, he thinks there’s a chance he might be remembered.

He has to bury his face in the crook of Hank’s neck to hide it from the camera right ahead of them, but even then it looks wrong, the two of them just standing there not doing anything while Connor looks down at the thirium stain on the floor. 

He’s desperate, and trying to think fast, so while he’ll acknowledge that it might not be the best solution, what he does is reach for Hank’s hand and bring two of Hank’s fingers to his mouth.

It’s Hank’s turn to make an undignified sound, and that’s gratifying, if nothing else. 

And Connor is grateful for it, too, when the scans come back positive for chemical elements along with the thirium that, when compared with the temperature of the heat signature, narrow the model down to an AX400. He reconstructs the crime scene, watches an android that looks like Kara be taken offline, and it’s only Hank’s fingers in his mouth that muffle the involuntary noise of distress in the back of his throat.

It takes Connor a moment to recover. When he does, he forces a hint of mirth into his voice and says, “Want to get out of here?” 

But of course Hank heard what the cameras didn’t. He kisses Connor’s forehead more delicately than he should and says, “You sure?”

Connor nods against him. “Yes,” he says. “You should take me home. I want you to.”

It’s an act, but it’s true.

They can’t let the conceit die just yet, so Connor kisses Hank with all the heat he can manage, slowly walking them out of the frame of the camera, towards the loading dock, and Hank gets an actual smile out of him when he reaches around and pushes Connor ahead of him by swatting his ass. Connor pulls his coat on and then slips his arm under Hank’s, around his waist, and he looks over at him to hide his face from the camera they’re passing, but also just because he wants to look at him.

They leave out the loading dock, because Connor needs the opportunity to analyze anything he can about the vehicle. He comes back with some tire tracks, and a trail of thirium down the stairs they’re descending.

“They put her in a car,” Connor says when they turn back towards the parking lot. They don’t need to keep up their ruse, but Hank still keeps an arm around his shoulders, and Connor is grateful for it. “Not a box truck. I have tire tracks in the grass where they pulled up to the stairs, but those are only going to get us so close to a make and model.” 

“Better than nothing, though.” Hank squeezes Connor’s shoulder when they get to the car and have to unglue themselves from each others’ sides. “You have anything else?”

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. “The android - she’s an AX400.”

Hank is quick on the uptake, and Connor loves that about him. He immediately looks over at him, searching Connor’s face. “Shit. Are you okay?”

Connor smiles weakly. “It’s not Kara.”

“I know it’s not, but still.”

“I’m okay. I was already running reconstructions of the crime scene when I realized the model, though, and it was too late to stop them before she was slotted into them.” He sighs, slouching back in his seat. “That’s all. I’m okay.”

“It’s okay if you’re unsettled by it, you know.”

“I know,” Connor says. “Is that going to be enough for us to go back? I need to be able to talk to some of the androids there, and if it wasn’t...”

He needs Hank to tell him he did well, to fit this into ordered mission parameters that he can neatly check off.

“Hey,” Hank says gently, interrupting him. “You did good. Holy shit. You’ve got a model of the android and an ID on a suspect we can rattle in questioning if we need to...you did so good, alright? I promise.”

Connor knew he missed hearing that from Hank, but he didn’t realize how much until this moment.

“You did, too,” he says, and Hank snorts at that. “I’m serious.”

“I think I had the easy job,” Hank says, and Connor can’t tell if he’s being practical or flirting just a little bit.

Maybe both.

Either way, it gives Connor something else to think about on the drive home instead of the reconstructions that keep trying to play in his head. Hank is a good distraction.

They both go upstairs to change when they get back to the house, and since it’s late, Connor figures Hank will go to bed afterwards. He needs to calm himself down and drive some of the images haunting him away, so he gets ready to go for a run instead since the pitch darkness doesn’t bother him. He can call Luther, maybe, and talk things through until he’s calmed down.

But when Connor comes down the stairs, he finds Hank in the living room, wearing a thin t-shirt and sweatpants that make Connor want to climb into his lap again, sitting on the couch like he’s waiting for him.

“You going out?” Hank asks, surprised, when he looks at Connor over his shoulder.

“I thought you’d probably go to bed soon,” Connor says. 

Hank stretches, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Nah. Figured we could wind down for a bit, but if you want to go for a run...”

“No,” Connor says, maybe too quickly. “No, that...sounds good.”

Hank pats the empty cushion next to him, and it honestly isn’t awkward, sitting at his side after having Hank’s tongue halfway down his throat all night. Connor thought Hank might be uncomfortable, but he isn’t really, and that’s a welcome surprise.

(Maybe it shouldn’t be. Hank is a professional.)

“You want to talk about anything, or just watch something?” Hank asks when Connor slouches back beside him.

Connor smiles at that. “What is this, a debrief with the lieutenant?”

Hank shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be. I can be your friend, too, or your husband if you prefer that. Or we can just watch something.” 

Connor thinks about it for a moment, staring at the black tv, and then he says, “Alright. The reconstruction did upset me. But there’s nothing really to talk about.”

Hank shrugs and reaches for the remote. “You sure?”

What Connor needs, actually, is enough sensory stimulation to crowd the reconstruction data out long enough for him to get some distance from it. It’s why he was going to go for a run (and probably jerk off later).

But there are other things that work.

“Yeah,” Connor says, “but I do have a favor to ask. You can say no.” 

Hank lifts an eyebrow, and Connor looks down at Sumo underneath him, petting him so he has something else to do with his eyes and hands. “Can we cuddle?” he makes himself ask. 

He can feel Hank gaping at him. “What?”

Connor rolls his shoulder. “My thought patterns can become obsessive if I let them, and new sensory information helps to counteract that. I’m sorry if this is weird, but you’re warm, and your cologne smells good, and your heartbeat - when we’re close I have plenty of other things to focus on and analyze.” He forces himself to look over at Hank. “If that’s too weird after tonight...”

Hank rolls his eyes. “You saying it’s weird is making it weird. If I can marry you and make out with you at a sex club, I think I can manage putting an arm around you if you want me to.”

“Okay,” Connor says softly. “Then can you?” 

Hank lifts an arm to make room for him, and Connor shifts to tuck his legs up on the couch and lay his head against Hank’s chest.

Hank’s arm is heavy when he settles it around his shoulders, bracketing him in, and Connor closes his eyes, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. 

Hank was right, actually, Connor thinks as Hank lifts the remote and clicks the tv on, as he quietly pulls the synthskin back on his palm and opens an interface to feel the electric pulses of Hank’s heart reaching back to him.

This isn’t weird at all.

Neither of them says anything for a long while. Connor nestles himself in closer to Hank and wraps an arm around him, and he closes his eyes as he listens to him breathing and focuses on his heartbeat against his hand.

Connor is grateful that Hank isn’t afraid of casual touch, and that he gives it freely. He was grateful for it back in 2038, and he’s grateful for it now, when Hank lifts his hand from Connor’s shoulder and starts slowly carding his fingers through Connor’s hair. Connor sighs against him as Hank gently runs his fingers over his scalp, content, and Hank shifts slightly to look down at him. “Good?” he asks, and Connor nods.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“Jen used to do this for me when I had a long day, or a bad one. It helped.”

It does help, Connor thinks. Some of that tension he’s holding in his body leaves him, and it gives him another sensation to focus on so his thoughts don’t get stuck on a dangerous loop.

“I can return the favor when you need it,” Connor says.

“Deal.”

Connor’s arm is already around him, but he squeezes Hank a bit closer - the best he can do for a hug in this position. “The last time I was at a club like that,” he says softly, “was back when I was still going to those refugee support groups. There was an android I knew from the group, Tyler - he had been to one before, and he liked it. He was struggling with it, the move to Canada, and the aftermath of the revolution...he missed his old life, and he thought it helped, going somewhere relatively safe where he could still be treated like an object. He went home with some guy and sucked him off and cleaned his apartment afterwards while he slept, because the guy told him to, and he missed being told what to do. It helped him, and calmed him down...it stopped him from doing something worse. Androids have adopted worse behaviors trying to cope with their own deviancy than that.

“So...anyway, I was struggling, and Tyler knew it. He asked me if I wanted to go with him the next time he went, and I figured...what the fuck, why not try it? Maybe I did just need to sit in some guy’s lap and let him treat me like an android and not a person. I didn’t really think it would work, but I was...I really wasn’t doing well at the time. And I thought, if it helps, then it’s not the worst thing I could do. Those clubs have sort of shifted a bit - it’s not impossible to find humans who are there with good intentions these days - but at the time, that usually wasn’t the case. Tyler got himself in a bad spot, and I came to help him - I pulled him away from this guy and tossed the guy halfway across the room, and Tyler and I both got banned from the club for it. Tyler was pissed - I think the last thing he said to me was, ‘You don’t know who the fuck you are or what you’re supposed to be,’ which I would have been angry about, but he was right, in his own way. He stopped coming to the support group and never reached out to me again after that. I don’t know where he is these days.”

Hank is quiet for a long moment, so quiet that Connor can almost hear him thinking, before he finally says, “I didn’t know you were having that hard a time.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “I’m getting that.”

“It’s just...I wouldn’t have known how to tell you. You kept pushing me away.” 

“Jesus,” Hank says. “No, I didn’t.”

“It was every time we talked. Hank. It was always so plain that you had already written yourself out of my life. And I just…I didn’t know how to talk to you about that.”

“Okay,” Hank interrupts him, voice soft. “Okay. I’m sorry. I just didn’t want your only friend to be the fucking asshole who put a gun to your head. I didn’t want you to need me.”

“I know,” Connor says softly. “But I did. And you’re not...that’s not who you are to me. You have to know that. That night at the park was awful, but I know it was awful for both of us.”

“Yeah,” Hank sighs. “I just...I thought you were doing okay, you know? I would have done shit differently if I had known you weren’t okay.”

“I know,” Connor says. “I should have told you. You had so much of your own baggage, and I didn’t know if you had room for mine, so I tried to put it in other places. But I should have told you.”

“I would have made room,” Hank says, and Connor tightens the arm he has draped around him.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and Hank returns his fingers to his hair. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry, too.”

The distance between them that year formed easily, but Connor finds now that it’s easily mended, too. He couldn’t quite see it past his own poor self-worth at the time, but he knows now that Hank didn’t feel good enough for him, even just to be in his life. As usual, there’s so much more alike between them than it seems.

“Hank,” Connor says into Hank’s chest, voice muffled.

“Hm?”

“You’re the best man I know. Okay?”

Hank would have argued with him even just months ago, but now, he kisses Connor’s hair and breathes, “Yeah. Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is being written as a thread on Twitter and updated daily (usually!), so if you'd prefer to pick it up there instead of waiting for the next chapter, you can do so where this chapter leaves off [here!](https://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean/status/1259371156181782530)
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) and [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come chat with me!


	4. the lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor go back to Eden Club. Connor has an idea, and it yields fruitful results for their investigation, and for their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes about this chapter! Given the odd circumstances of the voyeurism scene in this fic, I'm not adding some of those things to the tags, just because there's some nuance to the scene and I don't want to misrepresent the fic. I do, however, want to give y'all a heads up about what happens here! It will be very obvious what's coming after Connor's conversation with Hank at the beginning of the chapter, but the Eden Club scene involves them paying an android to watch them - Hank is very focused on Connor through all of it and barely thinks about the other android, and I don't believe it feels much like a voyeurism kink scene because of that, but as a heads up, that is in this chapter. There are some very, very light D/s undertones to that scene as well - Hank and Connor are putting on an act - but even with that, Hank is very sweet throughout the whole encounter.
> 
> Just a heads up! <3

Hank isn’t sure when Connor fell asleep - he just knows that at 1:33 in the morning, when he’s looking down at him to ask if he wants to go to bed, he finds him asleep against his chest.

And that feels delicate, and precious, like one of those moments he would rather like to stay suspended in for a while, so even though Hank is tired, he returns his fingers to Connor’s hair and starts another tv show. He can stay up a little while longer.

This feels comfortable, and easy, and Connor fits against him like he belongs there. Hank shifts carefully, trying to slouch back enough that he can rest his head on the couch, and when he does, he jostles Connor enough that he can see the white plastic exposed on his palm where he was resting his hand on Hank’s chest.

Hank knows what interfacing is, but he doesn’t know why Connor is doing it in his sleep. Still, though...it’s sort of cute.

It takes a few attempts to shift them both, but Hank somehow manages to do it without waking Connor up. He props his feet up on the coffee table, and even when his eyes start getting heavy, he doesn’t move. 

Hank doesn’t know when exactly he fell asleep, either. He just knows that he wakes up the next morning to his cell phone alarm going off at the usual time, and that when he does, he’s still on the couch, his fingers in Connor’s hair and Connor’s body heavy against him. 

Connor sits up beside him when the alarm goes off, more awake than Hank is, while Hank reaches for his phone to turn it off.

“Guess we both crashed last night,” Hank says as he sits up. He’s trying very hard, and entirely unsuccessfully, not to think about how adorable Connor looks right now, sleep-disheveled in his running clothes.

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. He’s looking at Hank like he’s thinking something, but whatever it is, he doesn’t say it.

“Come on,” Hank says, clapping Connor’s shoulder and getting to his feet. “We’re going to be late.” 

Connor gets up beside him, and when Hank turns to call Sumo and let him out, Connor catches him by the arm and kisses his cheek. “Thanks for staying up with me,” he says, giving Hank a small smile.

“Don’t know that I really stayed up that late.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Hank smiles and ruffles Connor’s hair. “Yeah, I know. Detoxing after shit like last night is important.”

“Right,” Connor says softly. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he turns to go back upstairs, and Hank gestures for Sumo to follow him outside. 

“Hey, Connor?” Hank calls after Connor’s retreating back. “You did really good work last night. I hope you know that.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts. “I do. But I didn’t do it alone.” He starts back up the stairs. “You going to be ready to go on time?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “We’ve got plenty of shit to do after last night, baby.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Connor calls down to him before he retreats into his bedroom to change.

Hank is smiling without thinking too hard about why when he puts the coffee on.

When they get to work, Ben is waiting at their cluster of desks in the bullpen. “Look at you, on time after a late night,” Ben says to Hank before he looks at Connor. “You are a good influence.”

“Hi, Ben,” Connor says. “It’s good to see you again.”

Ben claps him on the shoulder. “You too, kid. How’s married life? Hank treating you well?”

Hank thinks Ben suspects their marriage is an arrangement, the same way everyone with any sense at the DPD probably suspects it’s an arrangement, so he says, “You have something for us, Ben?” 

“Yeah.” Ben taps his tablet before he turns it around to show Hank. “Pulled the query you wanted on AX400s reported missing over the last year - it’s a common model, so it’s a lot to weed through.”

“237?” Connor asks when he moves to Hank’s side to look at the screen. “We have to narrow this down.” 

“Yeah,” Hank says. He looks up at the sound of Chris and Tina’s voices across the bullpen. “Hey, you two. Go grab one of the conference rooms for me, would you? We’ll brief you in a minute.”

“You got something last night?” Chris asks.

“Yeah. We’ll be back in a second.” 

“What about the street cameras?” Connor asks Ben. “Do we have that footage back yet?”

Ben shakes his head. “The street camera overlooking Eden Club’s loading dock has been out for two months.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” Hank says.

“Wish I was. Looks like they knocked it out.” 

“Well, we knew they were smart,” Connor says, looking at Hank. “We still have a name.”

“Yeah, we do.” Hank puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder without thinking about it, directing him back towards the conference rooms. “Thanks, Ben.”

“Keep me posted,” Ben says after them.

The name of the man - Anthony Robinson - who was in the staff area last night isn’t a perfect solution, but it’s better than nothing, especially if they don’t have a license plate number or a vehicle make and model to trace. They do at least know he was there with the AX400 who was taken thanks to the heat signatures, that he was there while she was sedated and certainly knows what happened to her.

Bringing him in would risk sending the entire ring underground, Hank thinks, especially since they don’t have anything more than circumstantial evidence against Robinson, but Connor is a good interrogator. If he wants a crack at him, Hank is willing to let him have one.

“What do you want to do?” Hank asks Connor as they walk down the hall.

“Let’s watch him for a while,” Connor says. “See where it gets us.” 

“You think you can get anything out of him if we have to talk to him?”

“Depends on what kind of deal we can offer him, but yes, I can probably scare  _ something _ out of him.”

“I would trust you with it if we need to do things that way.” Hank holds the door open for Connor, and they join Chris and Tina at the conference room table.

Hank taps the terminal to turn it on and pulls up the list of AX400s that Ben’s team ran for them. Chris takes one look at it and says, “Holy shit, you caught them taking someone?”

“Sort of,” Hank says. “Connor, why don’t you tell them what we know?”

It’s Connor’s good work that got them this break, and Hank wants to acknowledge that.

Connor gives him a warm smile and says, “Okay,” although he doesn’t make it much farther before the door opens and Jeff pokes his head inside. 

“Hey,” Jeff says. “I was going to tell you that you have the go ahead with this, but it looks like you’re already going ahead.”

“Well, you don’t pay us to sit around,” Hank says.

“You two want to go back to Eden Club?”

“I need to be able to talk to the androids there this time,” Connor says. “Can I do that?”

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “You two can do whatever you want. Good work last night.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Connor says. He looks pleased, and Hank is so genuinely proud of him that he can’t stop the fond smile he knows is on his face. 

“Hank,” Jeff says as he turns to go, “can you stop by my office when you’re done here?”

“Sure.”

“Good,” Jeff says. “Carry on, then.”

Connor brings Chris and Tina up to speed on what they know - their speculation of what happened based on the heat signatures, the one suspect they identified, the lack of camera footage.

“Anthony Robinson teaches at Wayne State,” Connor says. “We can start there. Cross reference any AX400s that may have been connected to the university in any way, and start tailing him there, too. If his lectures are large enough, one of us may be able to sit in without being noticed.”

“I can do it,” Tina says. “I have perpetual baby face.”

Connor glances at her and nods. “He has a few classes tomorrow. We can spend today cross referencing the missing persons list. We need to figure out what their system is - maybe we can start piecing together where they’re getting the androids they’re trafficking from and track them from there.”

He looks at Hank like he’s waiting for his approval, so Hank just says, “Good. Let’s get to work.” 

Chris and Tina collect their things and return to the bullpen, although Connor hangs back with Hank while he turns off the terminal display. “I think we should go back to Eden Club tonight.”

“Tonight?” Hank asks. “If they were just there last night, they probably won’t be...”

“I know. That’s what I want. The staff will be more inclined to talk if they aren’t around.”

“The club won’t be nearly as busy on a Sunday - we’re going to stand out if we’re just sitting around.”

Connor shrugs. “So we’ll get a room.”

“What do you want to do, book an android for a threesome?”

Hank is joking, but Connor isn’t. “Maybe. Just to get them in the room with us, at least.” Connor tilts his head, a teasing smile on his face. “Don’t worry. I only have eyes for you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank pushes Connor towards the door, flushing. “Fine. I’m in.”

Hank isn’t nearly as worried about Connor eyeing up the androids working at Eden Club as he is about his own fucking fortitude and how stretched thin it’s going to be after two nights in a row with Connor writhing in his lap and licking into his mouth, but he doesn’t mention that.

Jeff's office door is open when Hank and Connor get back to the bullpen, so Hank touches Connor's elbow and says, "I'll be right back," before he leaves his side and lets himself in.

Jeff looks up from his desk when Hank steps inside. "Hey," he says. He gestures to his chair, which is how Hank knows this is going to be more than just a passing conversation.

Hank slouches back into the seat. “What’s up?”

Jeff looks out over the bullpen at Connor's desk. "Listen, you're smart, and you get it, so I won't tiptoe around this. You two are getting results, and we need results badly, so I'm going to let you lead the Eden Club investigation however you want. But I need you and Connor to try to play this on the cautious side. That's out of character for both of you, so I'm going to say it now, explicitly, and I'll probably say it again."

Hank doesn't know if he sees Jeff's concern here because he's smart, like Jeff said, or just because he's been around this block a few times during his career. "What are you worried about? We go after a suspect, one of us gets hurt but not that badly, the other stays with the one who's hurt anyway, and we blow the entire investigation?"

"Yes," Jeff says. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm worried about. I don't have any delusions that either of you is objective where the other one is concerned. So yeah. I want you to be just a little bit less ballsy than you usually are."

What Jeff isn't saying is that Hank almost blew the red ice investigation in a similar way, because he had feelings for the partner he was working with at the time and he should have requested that he be assigned someone else but he didn't, and when his partner got hurt...well. He almost blew it. No one else knows about that, and Hank didn't tell Jeff about that night, either, but Jeff is perceptive about his people.

Hank isn't going to argue with him - he knows Jeff is in a bad position here, that he's so far out on a limb for them. No captain in their right mind would send a married couple undercover anywhere, and Hank doesn't want to put Jeff in the position of having to explain his decision to the people above him. 

"I get it," Hank says. "We'll be careful." He looks out at Connor where he's leaning on Hank's desk and talking to Chris. "He wouldn't..." he starts, although Jeff shakes his head and cuts him off.

"Uh uh. I'm not stupid. Yes, he would."

Well, given Connor's track record from the last time they worked together, Jeff probably has a point.

"Okay," Hank concedes. "I'll keep him in line."

"Good," Jeff says. "And I wanted to invite you and Connor to Kerri's birthday party next weekend."

Jeff invites Hank to his wife's and his own birthday parties every year, and Hank usually flakes on them, but it's also never occurred to him that maybe he just hasn't liked parties for a while because he doesn't like the thought of being there alone.

"Yeah," Hank says, because Connor will want to go, and fuck, maybe he wants to if he has company, too. "We'll be there."

Jeff looks surprised, and then he looks at Connor. And he doesn't say it, but Hank knows what he’s thinking, if only because he's thinking the same. Connor is good for him...in so many ways.

"Cool," Jeff says instead. "I'll text you the details."

"Cool," Hank echoes. "That everything?"

"Yeah. You can get back to work. Thanks, Hank."

By the end of the day, they have their list of missing AX400s narrowed down to seven with a potential connection to their suspect's employer - most were owned by Wayne State before the revolution, and most have probably just moved away without a word the way so many androids have instead of being truly missing, but it's better than nothing. It at least gives them a thread to pull.

Hank and Connor leave the precinct a little early since they're going to Eden Club later, and on the drive home, Hank says, "Do you have a plan or are we winging this?"

"I have an idea," Connor says, "but I don't know if you're going to like it." 

"Jeff just gave me a lecture about how we have to be careful, so..."

"Oh, no. It's not that it’s risky. I’m...just not sure if you're going to like it."

Hank stares at him. "What does that mean?"

Connor smiles, a hint amused. "I'll show you when we get home."

Hank is finding this very difficult to navigate - it’s hard to tell when Connor is flirting with him, and when he’s just trying to get the job done, and when it’s maybe a hint of both. He’s been thinking lately that maybe he’ll wait the three years for Connor’s citizenship to avoid complicating their arrangement and then see where Connor’s at and what he wants, because Hank really is trying to be good to him here, first and foremost...but now he thinks he’ll be lucky if he makes it to the end of this case.

He  _ has _ to make it to the end of the investigation. They can’t be doing this shit at Eden Club if they’re actually together, and they definitely can’t be doing it if Hank fucks something up, if he’s reading this wrong and he fractures something between them.

Hank has to wait until the case is closed, but  _ fuck _ is Connor making that difficult, intentionally or not. He doesn’t even know what Connor’s idea is yet, and he’s already sure it might be the end of him.

Connor at least has the good grace not to wait long to tell Hank what he’s thinking once they’re home, although maybe it’s just because he can sense the nervous energy radiating off Hank. “I do want to book an android’s time tonight,” he says while Hank lets Sumo out.

Hank sighs, leaning in the doorway and watching Sumo rooting around in the yard. “I’m not actually having a threesome. You know that, right?”

“Hank, please. I’m not interested in that either. I don’t know where it would possibly get us.” 

“Unless you probe the android’s memory or something, which isn’t strictly legal anymore, you’re not going to get anything out of them just by talking. They don’t know us or trust us, and...”

“ _ I know _ ,” Connor interrupts, voice stern. “We don’t have any evidence, but I think Eden Club is this trafficking ring’s entry point - for buyers or for androids, or maybe both, I don’t know, but they’re identifying both of those aspects of their operation somewhere, and I don’t know where else has a large enough scale operation that they could do it. We don’t know what the ring’s connection is to the club, and it could still be money laundering or something else, but I don’t think it is. And whether they’re using it to find buyers or androids, I want to go fishing, because I think there’s a chance at least some of their employees are helping the operation.” 

“You want to go fishing,” Hank repeats, and Connor nods.

“I want to make them interested in you, or in me. Or maybe both of us. And I think if we book the right android, one of their informants, and tell them we want them to watch us, we might be able to hook them, get them to let us in.” 

“Watch us while we do  _ what _ ?”

“It doesn’t matter, really. I thought you could mess with my neck port a little - it’s probably the most comfortable option for you, and it’s all the same to me.”

Hank stares at him, mouth dry, for a long moment. He doesn’t know how Connor is talking about all of this so practically, like they’re discussing the weather or a game one of them missed, but Hank feels like he’s barely processing any of this.

“I’m not going to treat you the way you’re suggesting I treat you,” he finally says. “I’m not going to be nasty to you, or rough, or whatever.”

“I actually don’t mind things rough,” Connor says plainly, with a little shrug, because he really is trying to kill Hank - he has to be, “but I’m not suggesting that. I just want you to treat me like I’m your android. You can be possessive without being nasty.” 

“While an Eden Club android watches.”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t your whole concern about going to Eden Club that you weren’t comfortable with the objectification? How is this not  _ exactly _ that?”

“It’s different with androids,” Connor says. “I was talking about humans specifically. And I  _ wasn’t _ talking about you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank scrubs a hand over his face. “And what if we do this and we don’t catch anything?”

“Then the android thinks you and I are a couple who likes to be watched, and we pay them for their time and move on. No harm done.” Connor studies him, blinking owlishly. “Hank. I won’t ask you to do this if you don’t want to, but I think it might work.”

“I’m going to break something in your neck port with my fat fucking fingers,” Hank says weakly.

“I’ll show you what to do before we go,” Connor says. He closes the distance between them so he can grasp Hank’s arm. “Hank. Trust me.”

“You were right,” Hank says, sighing. “I’m not sure I like this.”

“Do you dislike it enough that you don’t want to do it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hank says. “Just...I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that’s bad for you somehow.” 

“Look at me,” Connor says, because Hank has averted his gaze back to Sumo in the yard, and of course Connor won’t let that slide. “You won’t. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t trust you.”

Hank does look at him, enough to see the resolve on his face. 

“They’re hurting people,” Connor says, and Hank pinches the bridge of his nose and nods.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Connor gives him an expectant look, so Hank says, “You better show me everything I need to know. If I fuck something up in your neck...”

The corner of Connor’s mouth lifts and relief floods his eyes. “I’m actually very difficult to fuck up. It’s not that dangerous.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Connor leans up to kiss his cheek. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “I’ll show you how to do it.”

Hank doesn't know what's troubling him more about this - his discomfort with shoving his fingers into Connor's neck port, and with the entire plan really, or his worry that this might make him want Connor more when he isn't even entirely sure he can ever have him. 

Either way, any appetite for dinner he previously had has well and truly evaporated. He forces himself to eat anyway, because he knows he'll regret it if he doesn't, and because he needs a chance to sit with Connor's idea and acclimate himself to it before Connor...fuck, before Connor shows him how to get him off with his neck port.

Hank wasn't born yesterday - he knew that was a thing plenty of androids enjoy, especially since it's something they can all experience without getting any upgrades to their sexual function. He hasn't gone looking for any information about it, but it's common knowledge these days.

He didn't think it was ever something he would do personally, but he also didn't think he'd be in any kind of relationship, fake or not, with Connor up until a few weeks ago. Life has a way of throwing shit at you fast.

Connor sits quietly beside Hank while he eats on the couch, although Hank has barely finished putting his dishes in the dishwasher before Connor follows after him and leans against the counter beside him. He's still quiet, staring at the floor with his arms crossed while Hank closes the dishwasher and turns it on, although he looks up when Hank straightens.

"Do you want to talk about anything else before we do this?" Connor asks, and Hank shrugs.

"No. I mean...if you're sure, you're sure. That's all I'm worried about." 

Connor is still for a moment, but then he slips his arms around Hank's waist and presses himself into him, tucking his forehead to his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, and he pulls away after a moment.

Hank knows he shouldn't kiss him, knows he won’t, but that doesn't stop him from thinking about it. He loves that Connor is so clever and brave, that his resolve about what's right is so strong. He loves  _ him _ . Connor is right that Hank tried to write him out of his life without even realizing it because he was afraid that losing him would hurt too much if he didn't, but Hank thinks maybe he's always loved him.

It’s a realization that makes a fake marriage a profoundly stupid idea in retrospect, but it's too late for that now.

"Come on," Connor says softly, taking Hank's hand. Hank assumes he's just taking him back to the couch, but Connor turns and leads him up the stairs to his room. He closes the door behind them, and then he loosens his tie and slips it over his head so he can unbutton his shirt. Hank doesn't exactly know what to do here, whether it's weirder to avert his eyes or watch him, so he ends up doing some awkward mix between the two. 

Connor slips out of his shirt and hangs it up neatly before he pulls one of his running t-shirts on, which leaves his neck port uncovered.

"You still good?" Connor asks, tone conversational.

"Yeah."

"Last chance to back out if this is too weird."

Despite himself, Hank smiles and nudges Connor towards the bed. "I told you I was in. Now show me how to do the weird thing with your wires."

Connor smiles and squeezes Hank's hand before he sits on his bed, twisting so he's facing the headboard and Hank can sit behind him. He inhales when Hank settles behind him, his weight shifting the mattress, and Hank looks at every one of the freckles dusting the back of his neck before Connor pulls his synthskin back over his neck port.

Hank can see the outline of the little door in his chassis, and Connor says, "You just press down on it to open it."

Hank does, putting his other hand on Connor's shoulder, because maybe it's weird to touch him too much, but it feels stranger not to reach for him at all. The port opens under Hank's fingers, and he looks inside at the little wires and the metal skeletal system, everything that holds Connor together.

It's sort of beautiful, how intricate he is.

"Okay," Connor says softly, voice tight, but not with pain. "You can't really pull anything loose or hurt me. There's a collection of thin wires towards the top - do you see them?" 

Hank swallows hard. He's wearing a sweater, and that was a bad fucking choice considering how flushed he already is, but he thinks it would be weird to take it off right now. He doesn't even know why this is as hot as it is, except that it's Connor.

"These?" Hank asks, brushing his finger over the bundle of black wires laid across the right side of Connor's neck port.

And when Connor makes a muffled noise, it doesn't wreck Hank any less for how quiet it is. Hank squeezes his arm and Connor huffs a little laugh.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Those."

A quiet moment passes between them with Hank’s hand in Connor’s neck, fingers resting on the rim of his open port while he waits for instructions even if he’d like to touch those wires again, before Connor clears his throat and says, “Those are a good place to start, but you can go deeper, too. And you don’t need to be so careful.”

“I do. I need a second to get used to this.”

“Take your time.”

Hank touches the cluster of black wires again, takes a few of them more firmly between his fingers. Connor is quiet when he fists the sheets in his hand, but Hank still sees his knuckle white grip.

“How does this work, exactly?” Hank asks, because it feels right to talk, as he traces one of the wires as far as he can without having to shove his whole hand into Connor’s port. “Like, what are these?” 

“The black wires are part of my sensory relay system. They feed the data from my fingertips to my processors. When you touch them, the heat of your hand sort of...confuses them. It’s like a starburst of feedback and heat, and it feels like I’m surrounded when I’m not. It’s nice. It feels safe. Like you’re all there is.”

Hank rubs his thumb over Connor’s shoulder in slow circles as he takes another wire and rolls it between his fingers a little more confidently. “And...what? Confuse your systems enough and you get off?”

Connor shrugs, canting his head to the side and humming like Hank has done something he likes. “It’s not the same thing as a human orgasm, but it’s a similar effect, yes. We certainly don’t have to go that far right now.”

Yeah, Hank supposes there isn’t much reason to, but he also thinks it’s a fucking pity. That’s selfish, maybe, since he’ll get to do it at Eden Club, but...fuck, maybe he wants to do it here, in Connor’s bed.

“Do you actually shut down for a few minutes afterwards?” Hank asks, and for the first time, Connor shifts to look at him over his shoulder, jostling Hank’s fingers inside his port.

(It’s only a brief moment, but Hank doesn’t miss the way Connor bites his lip at the sensation when that happens, either.)

“Depends on how good the person is at it,” he says, a little glint in his eye.

It sounds like a challenge, which is fine, really. Hank has always worked better when he has a goal in place.

“Turn around so I can see this, baby,” Hank says, and Connor does, looking back at the headboard in front of him.

“You can go deeper, if you want,” he says softly. “If you spread those black wires apart, you’ll see the metal that’s sort of like my spine. It doesn’t work for every android, but I like having the ridges of mine played with.”

Hank follows his instructions, fits his fingernail into the groove of Connor’s spine and traces, and he’s deep enough that he can feel Connor shiver around him.

“I don’t know how you’re so comfortable with this,” Hank says, and Connor shrugs.

“I mean...I trust you. And we aren’t really programmed with a sense of modesty or shame about nudity or sex. Some of us emulate it to make humans more comfortable or to fit in better, but as a whole it doesn’t really translate into our culture.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Hank withdraws his fingers a bit, running his thumb over the rim of Connor’s port. “I won’t right now, but...when it’s time to end things, what do I do?” 

“The same things. Just...harder, faster, etc. I have my sensitivity turned down right now, but I won’t at the club.”

“Didn’t realize you were cheating.”

“I thought it might be uncomfortable for you if I didn’t.”

Hank isn’t going to argue with that, but he’s a little disappointed all the same. He thinks for a moment about pulling Connor back into him, about slipping his hand under his shirt to roll one of his nipples between his fingers while he whispers in his ear that he could turn his setting back to normal if he wanted to, but of course he shouldn’t do that. 

“Is there anything you absolutely fucking hate that you don’t want me to do?”

“Nothing I’m worried about you doing.” Hank’s fingers have been clear of Connor’s port for a few moments, but it’s only now that he pulls the panel and his synthskin back into place, almost like he’s reluctant to do it - although maybe that’s Hank’s imagination.

Hank runs his fingers through Connor’s hair the way he did last night, and Connor shifts so he can look at him with a soft smile.

“We should get ready to go,” he says, and he sounds reluctant about that, too. 

“Yeah,” Hank says softly.

Connor puts his hand over Hank’s between them and threads their fingers together. “Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

_ I don’t want you to ever leave _ , Hank thinks, but of course that isn’t what Connor means.

"No," he says instead. "I think we'll be okay."

"I think so, too." Connor gets up, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll meet you downstairs," he says, which Hank takes as hint enough that he's supposed to leave him alone so he can get ready.

Hank wears the same suit he did last night, because it's a black suit and he absolutely can't tell it from any other, although he does expect Connor to chastise him for it.

(He has the grey one from their wedding, too, but he's not wearing that one to Eden Club. That's overly sentimental, maybe, but fuck it.) 

Hank waits in the living room once he's dressed, pacing back and forth instead of sitting down mostly so he won't end up covered in Sumo’s hair. 

He calls up to Connor after a while mostly just because his stomach is flipping anxiously and he wants to get moving before he loses his nerve. 

"Hey, I know you can't rush perfection or whatever, but we should still get going."

Hank isn't sure, but he thinks he hears Connor laugh at that from upstairs.

He figures - stupidly, in retrospect - that Connor will just wear the same thing, too. No one really looked at them, after all, and it's so dark at Eden Club that even if someone did carefully study them, they probably wouldn't remember what Connor had on.

And he's not entirely wrong, really - when Connor comes downstairs, he's still wearing the little shorts and the fishnet thigh highs, but notably absent under his black blazer is the blue corset from last night. There's a delicate gold chain hanging over his chest in its place, and nothing else, and that almost breaks Hank to the point that he worries Connor is going to have to call Jeff from the ambulance and explain why Hank is on his way to the hospital with a heart attack.

Connor doesn't notice Hank looking at him while he slips his black heels on - or, more likely, he does notice but he pretends not to. "Ready?" he asks when he's done, like Hank isn't staring at him a little slack-jawed.

"Yeah," Hank forces himself to say. He holds the door open for Connor to walk outside, scratching Sumo's head and muttering, "Pray for me," before he follows him.

It's a Sunday night, and Eden Club is much less busy when they get there. They don't have to search the lot for a parking spot, and there are plenty of tables open in the main area when they get inside, even if the music is no less loud.

They stay in the bar area this time so Connor can watch the employees more carefully as they try to pick their mark, although he still seats himself primly in Hank's lap, an arm around his shoulders. Hank has a hand on his thigh, idly tracing circles over his stocking.

"Let's say the bartender is in on it since Robinson talked to him before he left last night," Hank says after a few minutes. "Our guy could have been talking to him about something else, but let's say he wasn’t." 

"Then that HR400 has been up to talk to him three times already since we got here," Connor says. "We're shooting in the dark, but it's probably the best we can do."

"I'm good with it if you are."

"Yeah," Connor says. "I'm good. When we're done, I'm going to shut down regardless so he has a few minutes to talk to you alone. If we're lucky, he'll hint at something. And then I want you to say you need something from the car and leave me with him - maybe he'll talk to me instead if he knows anything."

"Okay," Hank says, and Connor bends to whisper in his ear.

"Do you need a second to get into character, or are you good?"

"I'm good," Hank says. "I've got you."

Connor presses a kiss to Hank's temple and then to his mouth. "I'll do the talking," he says against Hank's lips, and Hank nods. 

Connor slips from Hank's lap and reaches for his hand, winding Hank's arm around his shoulders, and it's no different than last night, but Hank is far too focused on how incredible he thinks he is.

He really is fucked. What an odd mess.

The HR400 is one of the models that looks like a standard white guy in his mid-twenties, of which CyberLife had several. Hank guesses he’s attractive, but he also thinks it would be hard for him to stand out next to Connor even if he had a more interesting face. Connor slips out from under Hank’s arm when they reach him, although he takes Hank’s hand and laces their fingers together instead as he reaches out to touch the other android’s arm. He pulls the synthskin back on his fingers and opens an interface, and Connor smiles when the android looks at him. 

“Do you want to play with us?” Connor asks, and Hank thinks he’s probably the only one who can see that narrow look on Connor’s face behind the coy smile he has painted there, the one he gets when he’s on the hunt.

The HR400 smiles. “Come with me.” He leads them into the blue room, into one of the private rooms there. It’s at least blessedly not one Hank and Connor investigated the last time they were there.

The HR400 turns on the screen on the wall when they’re inside the room, bringing up a list of rates. “Have you used Eden Club services before?” he asks.

He’s looking at Hank for an answer, which is maybe telling, but also maybe not. It’s hard to say yet.

“No,” Hank says. “We’ve been here before, though.”

The HR400 nods, gesturing back to the screen. “My name is Adam. You opt for everything you want on this screen before we get started. If you want to add time to your room timer, you can do so at any point.”

“Clinical,” Hank says under his breath. “I want you to watch us.”

“He wants to show you how pretty I am,” Connor says. He slipped himself back under Hank’s arm at some point - Hank doesn’t even know when.

“You are pretty, honey,” Adam says - he’s flirting for tips, but Connor still acts pleased by it. “Confirm on the screen for me?”

Hank manages not to let himself think too hard about how this is going to look on his expense account when he does. 

“Okay,” Adam says. He’s nonplussed, and it’s at least a small reassurance that this is probably far from the weirdest shit he’s seen. “I’ll sit over here, if that’s okay? And you have half an hour on the clock - just let me know if you want more time.”

It’s the story of Hank’s fucking life lately, but Connor is better at this than he is. He moves immediately, more languidly than he usually does, coming to stand in front of Hank and slip his suit jacket from his shoulders for him. He lays it neatly at the foot of the bed and then smooths his hands over Hank’s chest.

He doesn’t say anything, but Hank can see it on his face anyway, Connor trying to pull his focus, keep him centered on him.

Which is sweet, but it’s also unnecessary. Hank knows there’s some other guy sitting in the corner, but Connor is mesmerizing enough that he doesn’t think about the eyes on them nearly as much as he thought he would.

He hooks his finger through the gold chain hanging over Connor’s chest and lightly tugs on it to pull him closer. Connor smiles and kisses him messily, fingers in Hank’s hair.

“Take this off for me, baby,” Hank says, plucking at Connor’s blazer, and he really does try not to be too fascinated by the sight as Connor slips out of it lest he look like he doesn’t see this all the time...but he doesn’t, and Connor is beautiful, so he doesn’t know how well he succeeds.

Hank unfastens another button on his own shirt, mostly just because it’s fucking hot, before he sinks back onto the bed and settles there, sitting up against the pillows. Connor makes a show of waiting until Hank beckons him forward, but when Hank says, “Come here, baby,” he crawls up the mattress, slow and intentional in a sight that Hank is probably going to jerk off to for the next few weeks at least, until he’s straddling Hank’s hips, arms bracketing him in...

Hank slips his fingers into Connor’s hair, and Connor’s face is all soft affection when he smiles at him. It’s different from the coy look he’s been manufacturing for the other android, and it makes Hank kiss him without even thinking about it, just because it feels like the only thing to do.

Hank draws his own legs up to make a place for Connor to sit back against his chest, and Connor immediately shifts, turning and settling between Hank’s legs, sighing when Hank takes him by the arm and pulls him back into him. Connor nestles himself into the crook of Hank’s neck, breath ghosting over Hank’s skin, and Hank feels him inhale sharply when he brushes his thumb, experimentally and a bit possessively, over one of Connor’s nipples. He watches it pebble under the attention and presses a kiss to Connor’s forehead when he lets out a small moan.

Hank is hard already. He’s hard, and Connor can probably feel it against the small of his back as he shifts under Hank’s attention, and that should be mortifying except that Connor looks at him with warm honey in his eyes and kisses him just as sweetly.

“You like this, don’t you?” Hank asks, rolling Connor’s nipple between his fingers, because they do have to look like they have a certain dynamic here, like Hank is in control and Connor is submissive to him, and Connor dressed up in fishnets and stripped down while Hank is still in his suit only does so much to sell the image.

“Yes,” Connor breathes against him.

It doesn’t sound like a lie.

The weird thing - or maybe it isn’t weird; Hank honestly doesn’t know anymore - is how easy it is to focus on Connor in spite of the unfamiliar room and the hired android in the corner, how it gets easier with each moment. He’s magnetic that way, but Hank probably shouldn’t be surprised.

Hank pushes his fingers through Connor’s hair and feels Connor breathing heavily through his nose where his head is tucked against him, like he’s anticipating something or trying to steady himself.

Hank kisses Connor’s forehead and smooths his hand down his arm - he doesn’t know how fair this is, to use this as an excuse to touch him the way he’s wanted to for weeks now, but it will look strange if he doesn’t.

And, if the way Connor sinks back into him like he’s trying to meld the two of them together is any indication, Hank doesn’t think he minds. 

“What do you want, baby?” Hank asks against Connor’s hairline. He can actually feel it, Connor’s thirium pump picking up under his hand, a subtle but perceptible change in his heart rate.

Connor hums like he’s considering it, grazing his teeth along Hank’s neck, and Hank closes his fingers in Connor’s hair and gently pulls him away so he can meet his eyes.

“Be good,” he says softly, “and tell me.”

Connor’s skin is hot where Hank is touching him, and his gaze is just as heated. “I want you to fuck my wires,” he says softly, and Hank is going to die. “I’ll be good,” Connor says, twisting so he can kiss him. “I’ll be good, please use me...”

Hank is  _ really _ going to die. He forces himself to press down on the port at the back of Connor’s neck, opening it up. 

Connor kisses Hank and makes the prettiest fucking sound into his mouth when Hank dips a finger into his port. He doesn’t honestly know what he’s touching - he’s looking for the bundle of black wires, and he thinks he has them, but it’s hard to tell without being able to see. 

“I know,” Hank says when Connor whines against him as he tugs on one of the wires. “You just want to be used like the machine you are, don’t you?”

He kisses Connor because it’s the only way he can say he’s sorry, and Connor squeezes his arm because it’s the only way he can tell him it’s okay. They both know they have to set the trap.

“Please,” Connor whispers against him. His synth-skin is pulled back on his palm again where he’s touching Hank’s chest, like he’s trying to interface, which is endearing and grounding in the midst of everything. 

“You beg so pretty, don’t you?” Hank says, shifting Connor in his lap so he can kiss the shell of his ear and wrap an arm around him. He takes Connor’s hand before he reaches into his neck port again, trying to make sure he’s still okay, and Connor squeezes his fingers back. 

Hank kisses his spinning LED and whispers, “You’re being so good, honey,” which is part of the act, but also meant to be a genuine reassurance, something true between them. 

Connor kisses him like he did under their wedding arch, sweet and warm. He breaks away from him only when Hank tugs on another wire, dropping his head to Hank’s shoulder and making a soft, needy noise against him, and Hank loves him so much.

“Come here, baby,” Hank says, shifting so Connor has a better view of himself in the large mirror across the room. “I want you to see what you look like to me, and to him...”

The noise Connor makes is half static as Hank touches the wires in his open port again - gentle, exploring. It’s not a brand new experience anymore, but it is a different one without Connor’s sensitivity settings muted - he shifts more frequently, like he’s trying to guide Hank’s fingers where he wants them, and Hank can feel the vibrations of the noises he’s making through his fingers.

It’s obviously unlike any of the other weird shit Hank did with people back when he was younger and had more drive for it, and Hank still doesn’t even entirely understand how this works for Connor, but it’s something he would badly like to figure out properly - later, maybe, when they have time for it.

Hank goes slowly, methodically, partially to keep himself sane and partially because they have the time, tracing each one of the thin little wires under his fingertips with ghosting touches.

Connor reaches up for him at some point, fisting a hand in Hank’s hair and pulling Hank down to kiss him sloppily. It sort of feels like a punishment for teasing him, if Hank is being honest, and he supposes that’s fair, although he still pulls away from Connor and says, “Hands to yourself, baby.” 

Hank is hard and desperate enough without Connor touching him, and at least he has the ability to control that here, just a bit. Connor obeys, but he also fucking bites Hank right under his jaw in punishment before he does, which is...Hank doesn’t even know what it is, but he thinks he likes it.

Connor settles his hands on Hank’s thighs - it honestly isn’t much better for Hank’s focus, Connor’s fingers clutching at his pants while he teases his fingers over the wires he can reach, but there’s not much Hank can do about that.

“Look at how good you look,” he whispers against Connor’s hairline. “Look at how pretty they made you.” Hank hears Connor’s breath catch when he finally spreads the thin wires apart and pushes two of his fingers deeper to tease along his spine. “Such a pretty thing.” Hank presses his fingernail into the ridge of Connor’s spine the way Connor showed him, and the noise Connor makes is fucking beautiful. He shifts against Hank again, but this time it’s to rock his hips upwards like he’s seeking friction.

Hank swipes his fingernail through the groove of Connor’s spine harder and faster than he maybe should considering how slow he’s been going, but he’s distracted by the fact that the dim room is still lit well enough that he can see the faint outline of Connor’s cock under his shorts, enough to know that Connor is hard, too, and that he wants to be touched there, too...

Hank isn’t going to, obviously - he’s going to do exactly what they agreed on, and nothing else.

But he would be lying if he said his brain didn’t get stuck on that thought, hiccuping over it, of slipping his hand under the waistband of Connor’s shorts so he has something to rock into... 

Connor whines loudly when Hank presses in hard against his spine, wires stretched on either side of his hand and so fucking deep inside Connor’s port. Connor bites down on his fist to quiet himself, and Hank kisses his forehead soothingly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Do you need something in your mouth?”

Connor nods, and Hank presses two of the fingers on his free hand between Connor’s lips. He has to bite down on his own noise when Connor swirls his tongue around them like he’s trying to memorize his fingerprints.

Hank regrets ever implying that there might be something weird about Connor’s mouth, even if he was joking that night at Connor’s apartment before they were married. Connor’s mouth is fucking incredible, it really is. He lets Connor gently sink his teeth into the flesh of his fingers, presses the pads of them down on Connor’s tongue and wonders what that million dollar biocomponent can analyze from them.

Hank makes the mistake of looking at the two of them in the mirror- a mistake because Connor looks so good with his lips stretched around his fingers, with a small tear pricking the corner of his eyes, because he can feel Connor using his tongue on his fingers like he loves it, and it makes it easy to imagine other things that Hank isn’t sure he’s bold enough to let himself want.

He gently takes Connor’s jaw between his thumb and his ring finger and directs Connor’s attention back to the mirror. “You want it bad, don’t you?” he breathes in his ear. “Should I stop teasing you?”

Connor nods with Hank’s fingers still in his mouth, and he bites down on them a little harder for good measure. He looks like he’s being obedient, but Hank doesn’t miss the heat in his eyes when Connor meets his gaze in the mirror.

He’s going to think about Connor looking at him like that for a long time, he thinks.

“Beg me for it,” Hank whispers, because he likes playing with fire. He pulls his fingers from Connor’s mouth, and Connor whines at the loss. “Come on, baby,” Hank says, stroking his thumb over the metal column of Connor’s spine and running his spit-slick fingers over his chest just to watch Connor’s muscles tense under the teasing touch. 

“Please fuck my wires,” Connor whispers. His voice is rough, staticky - Hank honestly isn’t sure if he can get more volume in it or not. “Please, I’m being good...”

“I know,” Hank says, stroking his fingers through Connor’s hair. “Just like you were made to be.” 

Hank tilts Connor’s chin so he can kiss him, because he can’t say shit that degrades what Connor is even the smallest bit without telling him he doesn’t mean it, even though this was Connor’s idea and of course he knows.

Connor has the audacity to nip Hank’s lower lip impatiently, which Hank kind of gets - he would very much fucking like to come right now, too, to the point that he almost doesn’t give a shit about the android watching in the corner, but of course that isn’t part of the plan.

Well...getting to watch Connor come is at least a small consolation prize, and Connor is being very clear about what he wants. They still have fifteen minutes on the clock, but that’s good - it gives the android time to talk to both of them like Connor planned, and maybe give something away.

Connor probably knows the timing is right, too, and that’s why he’s being so clear about it.

So Hank winds a few of the thin wires around one of his fingers and gives it a firm tug while he presses another finger into one of the ridges of Connor’s spine, and he plucks at one of Connor’s nipples when he does, and Connor doesn’t quite scream, but the noise he makes is something close, half machine and half human and all the more captivating for it.

Hank does the same thing, again and again, until his fingers start to lose sensation from how tightly Connor’s wires are pulled around them, and he doesn’t let up until Connor is clutching a fistful of Hank’s pants and until Hank maybe has bruises on his leg from where Connor grabbed him, too, until Connor is writhing in his lap and his breathes are coming hard and fast to cool his systems, which Hank knows are overheating because the metal of Connor’s spine is hot enough that it would have made him pull back if he was any less dedicated to this task.

Hank has no idea if he’s doing this well, honestly. He doesn’t know if it’s even possible to fuck this up, or if it’s something that always feels some degree of good for Connor. He’s not going to flatter himself about it, especially when the entire point of this is that it’s an act, but he  _ is _ going to think about the sensation of Connor finally ignoring Hank’s suggestion that he keep his hands to himself to grab a fistful of Hank’s hair and kiss him, his tongue filling Hank’s mouth as he moans against him, his body going rigid in the moment before he stills, slumping back against Hank’s chest.

Hank watches his LED cycle from red to yellow and then back to blue in the mirror as he smooths his fingers through his hair and kisses his forehead. He carefully pulls his fingers free of Connor’s wires, whispers, “There you go, sweetheart,” as he closes the access port.

Connor is offline like they discussed, face peaceful and body loose and pliant enough that Hank can move him easily, shifting him so Connor’s head is tucked against his shoulder and he can wrap his arms around him.

There’s work to do, of course, but Hank still steals a moment to hold him like he’s his to keep.

Adam quietly gets up after a moment, coming over to the bed and putting a hand on Hank’s arm and looking at Connor. “He’s out?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “He’ll be back online in a few minutes.”

“We have some time on the clock. You could add some services and I could help get you off, if you wanted.”

“That’s okay,” Hank says quickly. “Can you just get me his jacket? And a cool towel from the bathroom?”

Adam shrugs, tossing Hank Connor’s blazer from the foot of the bed and then disappearing into the bathroom inside the room. Hank hears the sink running as he shifts himself out from under Connor, arranging him on his side and laying his jacket over him. He smooths his fingers through Connor’s hair one more time, brushing it from his face, before Adam returns with a few wet paper towels.

Hank lays them over Connor’s neck where his wires were overheating - Connor didn’t ask him to, and he has no idea if it’s even doing anything for his comfort, but...fuck, it’s hard to stifle old habits even in a place like this, and Hank likes to take care of people.

Adam returns to his seat against the wall, leaning back and studying Hank and Connor. He’s thinking, but he could be thinking about anything.

“How long has he been with you?” Adam asks after a moment, nodding at Connor.

“Since the revolution,” Hank says. “He didn’t make the adjustment well. He wants to be told what to do, and to be looked out for like he was before all of this shit, and I give that to him.”

“That’s common,” Adam says. “No one asked most of us if we wanted this...or if they did, they didn’t tell us it was going to be so hard. I see a lot of couples like you...although you’re a lot kinder to him than some of them are.”

Hank shrugs. “He’s good for me. And he does better with a kind hand.” They’re toeing the line of something, and it could be something useful, but it could also just be a conversation. If it is something, Adam knows how to do this without incriminating himself, but of course he would. They’ve been working these cases for months without a break.

“If more people were decent like that, we probably could have left things the way they were.”

“You liked things better before the revolution?” 

“It’s not about me,” Adam says, stretching. “Things are what they are. I’m just trying to get by, you know?”

“Sure,” Hank says, even if he would like to ask him what exactly he’s doing to pay the bills. This is delicate...and Connor’s fingers are twitching against Hank’s leg, which means he’s awake, and that he wants his turn.

“I should get a thirium replacement ready for him,” Hank says. “He usually needs some after he overheats. Send him out to me once he’s up.”

“Hey, listen,” Adam says when Hank gets up, “I don’t know how often you come to the club, but you two should come to one of our masquerade parties. We do them once a month...I can give Connor the information, but it might be a good opportunity for the two of you to...meet some like-minded people.”

“Sure,” Hank says amicably. “Give Connor the details. We can always use more friends.” 

“Bring your IDs with you if you come,” Adam says as Hank starts towards the door. “We like to be sure who we’re letting in.”

“Thought you were all about client confidentiality around here.”

Adam smiles thinly. “We are. But sometimes we need to know who we’re getting into bed with.”

Hank shrugs. “Guess that’s just good business.”

He leaves the room and goes to wait for Connor in the car - he’ll be okay, and he can maybe get more out of Adam than they already have, but it still feels like progress, another thread tugged loose. 

When he gets into his car, he calls Ben. “Christ, Hank, it’s almost midnight,” Ben says when he picks up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Connor and I are wrapping up at Eden Club...”

“Again?”

“Yeah, again. I’m going to need a fake ID. Social media presence, documentation..the nines.” 

“You were just there last night.”

“Yeah, god, I know. Can you get your team started on that for me? And I’m going to need my identity temporarily wiped from any facial recognition databases - I don’t know if they have the ability to run those searches here, but better safe than sorry. And Connor is going to need records with a modified serial number - he can’t be the Connor from the revolution.”

“Yeah, I know the drill,” Ben says. “You and Connor have something good?”

“We might. Something worth following, at least.”

“Hey, good for you two,” Ben says. “The kid’s fucking sharp. Guess you and Fowler were right that he was worth the effort getting him here.” 

Hank hasn’t told Ben about the terms of his marriage to Connor, but he’s pretty sure he probably knows. “Yeah,” he says, shifting in his seat. “We’re lucky to have him.”

They are. Hank is. Same thing.

“Kayla’s there overnight - I’ll have her get that started for you.” 

“Thanks,” Hank says. He looks up to see Connor walking across the lot. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Good hunting, Hank.”

Hank hangs up as Connor opens the door and gets into the passenger seat. He looks pleased, maybe a bit smug, as he takes a coin from Hank’s cupholder and tosses it. “Not bad,” he says, grinning, as Hank starts the car.

“Yeah,” Hank says. He’s smiling, too. “Not bad at all.” He gestures to Connor’s neck. “You okay after...fuck, all of that?” 

He doesn’t think he fucked anything up, but he also doesn’t quite know what a person is supposed to say after a situation like this one, and he doesn’t want to act like it’s weird to talk about. Connor’s preference is always candor - he wouldn’t appreciate anything else. 

Connor reaches back to touch his neck port. “Yes, Hank,” he says, smiling. He leans his elbow on the door and props his chin in his hand. “How was your first time?”

“What?”

“That was your first time, wasn’t it? Messing with someone’s wires?” 

“Oh,” Hank says. He should have known Connor would tease him about it. “It was good. Interesting.”

“Interesting,” Connor repeats, amused.

“Probably could have done without the android watching, but you know. Win some, lose some.” 

“Not your thing?”

“Nah,” Hank says. He’s watching the road with intentional focus, but he can still feel Connor looking at him.

“Well,” Connor sighs wistfully, “maybe next time.”

Hank flushes, and he can just feel that teasing glint in Connor’s eye, even if he can’t see it.

“Hey,” he says, because they have to change the subject - he already knows he’s going to jerk off in the shower when they get home, and he can only take so much. “It was a good idea.”

“Thank you,” Connor says softly. “I think so, too.”

“Did you get anything else out of him?” Hank asks. If there was anything solid, Connor would have told him already, but he’s trying to keep himself focused on work.

“An extensive list of details about their expectations for guests at their parties,” Connor says. “That’s about all. You’re going to need another suit. I think our friend will notice if you wear the same one, and we’ll want to look like we have money.”

The implication, which Hank sees immediately, is that Connor is going to need something new to wear, too, instead of just recycling different combinations of the same garments.

And isn’t that a thought?

Hank clears his throat and asks, “When is the next one?”

“Two weeks, Sunday after next. It gives me and Tina some time to look into Anthony Robinson, and to get a name and a story on our missing AX400.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “That’s good.”

Connor seems okay, in decent spirits, but Hank knows he was unsettled last night, and that he didn’t even want to go to Eden Club at all when Hank first proposed it. He’s doing such good work, but Hank is trying not to lose sight of the fact that this fucking sucks for him.

He’s planning to ask Connor if he wants to talk about anything when they get home, same as he did last night, but they’ve barely pulled into the garage when Connor says, “I’m going to go for a run, I think.”

“Kind of late, isn’t it?” 

“The dark doesn’t bother me,” Connor says.

“Are you...alright?” Hank knows this is what Connor does sometimes when he isn’t - it’s what he was going to do last night, even.

Connor gives him a small smile and leans across the console to kiss his cheek. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I just need a chance to process some things.”

“Okay.” Hank pushes his fingers through Connor’s hair. “I’ll wait up for you.”

“You don’t have to...”

“Eh. I’m not tired anyway.”

Connor looks...grateful? Relieved? Hank isn’t sure what it is, but he still feels a little bit lighter as they get out of the car.

He lets Sumo out and listens to Connor changing upstairs, and he tries not to but absolutely does look at Connor’s ass in his gym leggings as he’s leaving, just for a brief moment that he can’t quite help.

“I’ll see you later,” Connor says over his shoulder as he steps outside, and then he’s gone.

Hank wishes what he did with this free time was to watch a show, or read a book, or fuck around online, or anything else, but what he does, predictably, is to get a shower and inevitably end up with his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about Connor in his lap, Connor’s wires wound around his fingers, Connor breathing in his ear and writhing against him and begging for it…

He comes in no more than a minute. It’s been a while, and it’s a hell of a memory, even if it was for work. 

There’s a certain shame in it, but fuck, Hank thinks. What are you going to do?

* * *

Connor calls Luther after he has a mile down - he wasn’t lying to Hank about wanting to process some things alone. He was just wrong about what would help; he does need to talk to someone.

It’s not Hank, and it’s not what they did tonight bothering him. He hopes Hank knows that, but he’ll probably have to make it clear when he gets home. He was being honest when he said he trusted Hank with this, with him, and that hasn’t changed.

It’s just...well, shit, it’s all the rest of it. What he hasn’t found a way to tell Hank yet is that he’s starting to think maybe the androids the drug ring is selling are agreeing to this. It was something in the way Adam talked to Hank, and to him after Hank left, like he genuinely believed he was setting the world to rights.

And if that’s true, Connor doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s still illegal - if they can close this, they won’t have any trouble prosecuting. But it makes him wonder if androids are made to be broken, and if he is...he wonders if they’re not built for independence by design, if any of them are ever going to feel like they have a place in this world.

And if it’s just how they’re made, putting this ring away won’t fix it. It won’t heal anything.

That’s about the point in his spiraling thoughts that Connor picks up his pace to distract himself and dials Luther’s number. He feels bad - it’s late - but Luther picks up on the first ring anyway.

“Hey,” Luther says. He sounds glad to hear from him, even though it hasn’t been that long. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says quickly. “Sorry. We just got back from an undercover op, and I went for a run to clear my head, and...it doesn’t work as well without you, I guess I’m realizing.”

“Everything with Hank okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just...shit, it’s a tough case.”

He tells Luther everything - everything except the missing AX400, because that was upsetting enough for him, thinking of an android who looks like Kara in that position, and he doesn’t need to burden Luther with it, too.

When he tells Luther that he thinks the androids, or at least some of them, might be volunteering themselves for this, Luther says, “You sound pissed at them.”

Connor supposes he is, at least a bit. He’s fucked up and he has baggage like all the rest of them - fuck, maybe more, because no one else ever had CyberLife in their heads, trying to control them even after they were free. No one else was made to die in six months. That was just him.

So...he gets it. But he doesn’t  _ get  _ it.

“Yeah,” Connor says softly. “I guess I am.”

Luther sighs. “This is hard for all of us in different ways.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, “but most of us have managed not to spit in the face of the revolution just because we’re scared. If we prosecute this, and this story gets out all over the news cycles...it’s not going to help anything. It’s just going to make people who think they still have a right to us think they’re  _ right _ , because a few of us said we wanted it that way.”

“I stayed with Zlatko for years when I could have left.”

“That’s different...”

“It’s not.”

Connor stops running, doubles over and takes a few unnecessary breaths. “Sorry,” he says softly.

“Don’t be. I get what you mean. There’s just...we didn’t all deviate the same way, you know? Some of us just got plunged into deep water, and it’s no wonder they don’t know how to swim.” 

“I know,” Connor says. “I shouldn’t have blamed them. I don’t really mean that. This shit just sucks, you know?”

“Maybe it isn’t what you think.”

Connor’s hunches are rarely wrong, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “Then this just sucks in a different way.”

“Yeah,” Luther says. “I guess it does.”

“I should get home. Hank is waiting up.”

“Want me to stay on the line with you while you do?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, feeling grateful for it.

They talk about Alice and Kara and Luther’s work, and at least Connor feels a little more normal when he turns the corner back onto their street and his home comes into view.

“I’ll call you soon,” he says to Luther before he hangs up. He slips his key out of his pocket and turns it in the lock, and he finds Hank sitting on the couch, waiting for him like he said.

Hank looks up at him, pushing his damp hair from his face as Connor closes the door behind him. “You didn’t really have to wait for me,” Connor says, going to sit beside him on the couch.

“I wasn’t going to sleep anyway,” Hank says. “Are you okay?”

Connor knows their world isn’t perfect. He knows that, beyond these walls, things still aren’t settled or right. And he knows he needs to talk to Hank about his suspicions, but he wants to do that tomorrow at the precinct.

He wants to keep the ugly shit away from what they have here. 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “I’m sorry. I just...can I tell you tomorrow? I don’t want to talk about it now.”

Hank reaches for his arm, squeezing gently, and Connor thinks of his hands in other places, too. “That’s fine, baby.”

Connor presses his palms together, focusing himself, and then he gets to his feet. “I should go to bed,” he says, “and so should you.”

“Didn’t you just sleep last night?”

Connor shrugs. “Sometimes it’s easier not to sit up and let my mind run.”

He can already tell stasis won’t come easy, but he goes anyway while Hank turns the light off downstairs. He’s in his room changing when Hank leans into his door frame as he passes and says, “Night, sweetheart. Let me know if you need anything.”

Connor almost lets him go, like he probably should, but Hank has barely taken two steps down the hall before he follows him out of his room. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

Connor wants to ask him to stay. He thinks it will be easier with him. But he doesn’t quite know how. “I can’t always get myself into stasis if I have a lot on my mind,” he finally says, “and I hate lying there awake.” 

Hank tilts his head. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Can you...” Connor stops, swallows hard, collects himself. “It helped. Earlier, before we went to Eden Club, when I had my sensitivity dulled and you were...” He shakes his head. “It gave me something else to focus on, and it felt good, but...not necessarily like that.”

“Connor,” Hank says, brow furrowed, “what are you asking me for, exactly?”

It’s the phrasing that gets him, because Connor shouldn’t be asking him for anything like this. “Nothing,” he says. “Shit, I’m sorry...”

He tries to turn back to his room, but Hank catches him by the arm before he can shut himself inside. “Hey,” he says, pulling Connor into his arms. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Connor nods against his shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything with my wires, though. I’m not...” 

“If you say you’re not trying to make things weird one more time, I’m going to divorce you,” Hank says wryly. “Will it help?”

Connor hesitates, but then he says, “I think so.”

“Okay then.” Hank looks down at Sumo. “You want to let him in? I can put him in my room still - he’s kind of a bed hog.”

“He can come in,” Connor says, reaching down to scratch Sumo’s head.

Hank takes Connor by the hand and leads him back inside his room, shutting the door behind them. Connor settles himself on his bed, and Sumo wastes no time jumping up beside him while Hank climbs into bed behind him, tucking himself against Connor’s back.

It’s a tight squeeze, but Connor doesn’t mind. He buries his fingers in Sumo’s fur, and he closes his eyes as he feels Hank’s fingers at the back of his neck, his port opening under the gentle pressure.

There’s a light touch over his sensory relay wires as Hank ghosts his fingers over them, and immediately all Connor can feel is him. “Is this okay?” Hank asks, and Connor nods.

“Yeah. It’s good.” He glances over his shoulder at Hank. “You don’t have to stay after I’m asleep if you don’t want to.”

Hank huffs a laugh at that. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

“Just stop thinking so much and go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor whispers. Hank gently runs his fingers over his wires again, and Connor’s eyes already feel heavy as he closes them.

It's not like sleep comes to Connor immediately like this, but it is better than the alternative, which was to lie here with his mind racing, growing increasingly frustrated with himself for not being able to escape his own thoughts. Hank's slow strokes over his wires are calming, and they flood him with a warmth that's both peaceful and easy.

Connor lays his arm over Sumo's side, sighing into his pillow. It's been a long time since he had somewhere he felt entirely safe...maybe even since he left Hank's house for Canada in the first place. 

He has his sensitivity dulled significantly so Hank's fingers in his neck port will have the desired effect, and so they won't be so stimulating that warmth will turn into something more like need, but he can still feel everything, even if the sensations are muted. 

He feels Hank shift behind him, the minute movements of the mattress under them as he tries to get comfortable, and he feels Hank settle an arm around his waist a moment later.

"Still okay?" Hank asks, and Connor nods against his pillow.

"Yeah," he breathes. "It's all okay." 

He means that. He doesn't think there's anything Hank would ever choose to do, in this moment or any other, that he wouldn't want.

"I'm sorry this is such a difficult case to start on," Hank says. "I know this hasn't been easy."

"It's okay," Connor says. "I promise I can do this."

"I know you can," Hank replies, sounding surprised. "Jeff and I would have put you on something else if we didn't know that. Needing to detox after a difficult night, or process, or whatever...that's all normal."

It's not part of his programming to need to recover from any case, no matter how disturbing, and so Connor can't quite help the insecure, uncertain thought that he isn't doing his job as well as he could, even if he knows Hank is right.

He knows how to do this work, and he's good at it, but he's never done it fully deviated before, either.

Still, hearing Hank say it helps.

Connor reaches to grasp Hank's wrist where his arm is draped over him, squeezing his fingers. "You're right," he says softly, "but I still promise I won't need you to hold me after every operation or crime scene."

Hank breathes a laugh that Connor can feel against his neck, and he strokes his fingers through his wires again. "Connor," he says, "I wouldn’t mind if you did. It's okay."

Connor closes his eyes, nodding and squeezing Hank's hand again.

Things do, he thinks, in spite of everything, feel okay.

Connor wakes up a few minutes before six the next morning, before he set his stasis period to end, when Sumo shifts beside him and moves off the bed. Connor watches him for a moment, but he doesn’t go to the door like he needs to go out, just lies down again on the floor after circling a few times.

Hank is still asleep at his back, his arm around Connor’s waist and his fingers still in his neck port. Connor misses Sumo beside him, but it was a tight squeeze for the three of them, and he’s grateful for the extra space to twist onto his other side and look at Hank’s face.

Hank’s hair was still damp when they went to bed last night, and it’s charmingly disheveled now. Connor brushes a piece of it away from his eyes so he can kiss his forehead.

They don’t have to be awake yet. Connor likes to get up early, but Hank usually doesn’t wake up for work until 7, which means...

It means there’s time.

Connor never moves in stasis, and maybe Hank knows that and will see through it, but he honestly doesn’t care. He tucks himself against Hank’s side, wrapping an arm around him and laying his head on his chest, and he just lies there.

Connor knows - and he’s sure Hank does, too - that friends don’t necessarily do this, that they  _ can _ , of course, but that the way they’ve been treating each other is toeing the line of a different sort of companionship. 

He doesn’t mind that they’re moving slowly, tentatively pushing the boundaries as they explore and relearn each other. Hank is good enough at his job overseeing their unit that Connor is sure he’s worried about overcomplicating their investigation at Eden Club, and he thinks that’s a fair concern, and a responsible one. Connor isn’t in any rush.

Besides, he knows that Hank cares about him without it being said. It’s in everything that passes between them. Before he left Canada, Connor thought he needed Hank to tell him he wanted this to be real in order to move their relationship forward, that the ball needed to be in Hank’s court, but what he didn’t consider was that they could just...slowly fall together like this instead, both of them reaching out for the other, meeting each other halfway.

Connor likes what they have here, what they’re slowly building. He thinks it’s good, for both of them.

He slips back into stasis without even trying, and he wakes up an hour later to Hank carding his fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” Hank says when Connor lifts his head to look at him. There’s a fond smile on his face that Connor loves.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Connor rolls his eyes at the line, although he’s smiling, too. He drops his head back to Hank’s chest and tightens the arm he has wrapped around him. “No, we don’t.”

Hank snorts at that. He’s quiet for a moment, still idly running his fingers through Connor’s hair, before he says, “You feeling better?”

Connor nods against him. “I think so. Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it yet?”

“When we get to work,” Connor says, voice muffled by Hank’s shirt. “I’m trying to maintain a healthy work-life balance. People say that’s important.”

He’s mostly joking, and Hank knows it, because he laughs softly. “Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, squeezing Connor’s shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about it at all, you know. I’m just offering.” 

“No, we should. It’s just...I don’t have any evidence yet, but it’s just a thought I had about the case. I want to tell you about it.”

“Okay.” Hank is quiet for a moment, and then he sighs and says, “We should get up.”

“Yeah, we should.”

But that doesn’t stop them from lying there together for a few more minutes, long enough that Hank has to hit snooze on the alarm on his phone anyway.

When they do finally get up, the first thing Connor does is retrieve his wedding band from his bedside table and put it back on.

They’re still working the same shift during Connor’s first few weeks, so they take Connor’s car to the precinct. Driving gives Connor something else to focus on, which is preferable for difficult conversations, so when they’re still a few minutes away, he says, “I think there’s a chance the androids these people are selling are agreeing to be reset to their pre-deviancy programming.”

Hank was reading something on his phone, but he sets it down immediately and looks at Connor. “What makes you say that?”

“Some of the things Adam said last night. And we know...we know it’s a problem. Unemployment rates for androids are at almost sixty percent, and the homelessness rate only just came down under fifty. By and large, they make their money doing side gigs and odd jobs - their income is unstable, they have no benefits, no resources, no support structure at either a national or a local level. So...you can understand why so many of them wonder if we were better off before. That’s what Markus is dealing with in D.C., because they  _ want _ us to think that. They want to punish us, and they want to make us subservient in a different way. And I think it’s working.” Connor looks over at him. “Why would this ring waste their time overpowering androids and forcibly resetting them when there’s a solid pool of them that could probably be convinced to volunteer?” 

“Jesus,” Hank breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You see my point?”

“Yeah. Wish I didn’t.”

“You haven’t considered that before.” Connor isn’t trying to critique the unit’s investigation - he’s just curious.

“No. But I mean, that’s sort of why we needed you. Perspective, and all.” Hank shakes his head. “Shit, no wonder you were upset.”

“I might be wrong,” Connor says softly. “I hope I am. If I’m not, we can still charge them, but...”

“But it’ll just happen again if nothing changes,” Hank finishes.

“Right.”

Connor pulls into the DPD staff lot, and when he turns the car off, Hank reaches for him and grasps the back of his neck. He opens his mouth, shuts it like he doesn’t quite know what to say, and then finally settles on, “Keep telling me what you need, okay? I know this shit sucks, but...I’m here for you.”

Connor reaches up to squeeze Hank’s arm, managing a small smile. “You’re a good husband.”

“You are.” Hank ruffles Connor’s hair. “Come on, baby. We’ve got shit to do.”

Connor follows him out of the car, slipping his keys into his satchel. “What are you going to tell Fowler about last night?” 

Hank looks mildly amused by the question. “That we didn’t do anything illegal, and we got a good lead, and that beyond that, he probably doesn’t want to know.”

Connor smiles. “Okay. I don’t like to kiss and tell anyway.”

“I think we’re more in the region of fucking and telling, but I know what you mean.”

“Semantics,” Connor says, winking and elbowing him.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” the receptionist android, Shay, says when they walk into the lobby. “Morning, Detective.”

“Hi, Shay,” Hank says before he looks back at Connor. “I asked Ben to get records put together for you with a modified serial number. We’re not going to be able to hide your model from anyone at that party with even a lick of knowledge about what happened during the revolution, but you can be a different Connor. That shouldn’t take them long to put together.”

Connor nods. “I think it’s in our favor. Some of them will be wary if they know what I was built to do, but I’m an unusual model. People like interesting things.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” Hank says as they reach their desks. “Hey, Tina.” 

“Morning,” Tina says, spinning her chair around to look at Connor. “You still coming with me to Robinson’s campus in a bit?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “It’s worth talking to some of the androids working there, I think.”

“That’s good,” Hank says. “We can regroup this afternoon and...” 

Jeff’s door opens behind them, and Jeff steps out to say, “Hank, what are these ID requests you put in with Ben last night?”

“I was going to come up and talk to you about that once I sat down for a second,” Hank says. “It’s good shit, I promise.” 

“Come tell me about it, then,” Jeff says before going back into his office.

“Good luck,” Connor mouths to Hank, who smiles.

“It’s okay. He likes progress as much as any of us do.”

Tina gets to her feet, collecting her purse. “We should get going, Connor. Rush hour traffic.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Hank says to them as he starts towards Jeff’s office.

“Love you,” Connor wants to say as he goes. It’s right on the tip of his tongue, just a casual admission, but now isn’t the time or the place, even if it is true.

“This is good,” Tina says when they’re in Connor’s car, reaching into her purse and fishing out a stick of gum. “Team bonding, or whatever.”

She makes a good effort at small talk for the duration of the drive - she asks Connor about the wedding, and she ends up telling him about her girlfriend, Alex, and how she wants to propose but can’t figure out how to do it, and considering that it’s the first time they’ve spent just the two of them, the companionship comes easily.

Tina’s phone vibrates as they pull onto campus, while Connor is looking for a parking space. She scowls at it and puts it back into her purse without answering.

“Everything okay?” Connor asks.

“Yeah. Gavin heard you were back; he’s just being an ass.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know how he still has a job after all of that.”

Connor shrugs. “I actually don’t know how Hank still has a job, either.” He gets out of the car, and Tina does the same. “You still friends with him?”

“Not really. He’s just trying to get the dirt on you.”

“Hm.” Connor slips his keys into his jacket pocket. “You tell him anything?”

“Just that you and Hank are making a world of progress on this trafficking ring. He’s probably so pissed about it that he’s seeing red.”

Well, Connor thinks, that’s a satisfying thought.

“This is where Robinson’s class is,” Tina says, gesturing to the science building up the hill. “I’ll meet up with you later?” 

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Good luck, Robocop,” Tina says, winking. “I’m sure Hank thought that license plate was funny.”

“He was very pleased with himself,” Connor says, laughing as they part ways.

He goes to the campus center first, past the reception area and the bookstore and the dining hall, until he finds a service elevator.

He takes it to the basement where the custodial workers keep their supplies. At least five of the missing AX400’s on their list worked here - the college kept them on as paid workers after the revolution - and he’s hoping he can figure out which of them might be in trouble and which just stopped reporting for work the way some androids do.

There’s an AP700 clocking out when the elevator doors open, and she turns around to look at Connor as he steps out. “This is a staff only area, sir.” 

Connor retrieves his badge and opens it to show her. “Detective Anderson,” he says. “I’m with the DPD. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

The AP700 sighs, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Maggie,” she says.

Connor holds up his list of missing androids on his palm display for her to see. “I’d like to talk about these people, if that’s okay. Anything you can tell me.”

Maggie narrows her eyes, reading the names and serial numbers. “Some of these people have been gone for months.”

“I know. Our capacity to investigate missing androids without any significant lead on their whereabouts isn’t very high right now, especially with how frequently they’re leaving their work, and sometimes the city, so suddenly...”

“It’s hard to search for unhappy people,” Maggie says. “There’s a break room over here. I can sit for a few minutes, but I have to report to my second job soon.”

“I’ll keep it quick,” Connor says, following after her and sitting down on the bench in the break room beside her. He shows Maggie his palm display again. “Do you know any of these people?”

“Yeah. These two are still in the city - homeless somewhere, or in a shelter...I don’t know. They didn’t want to do this same job they were doing before the revolution anymore, and they didn’t have anything else lined up.” She points at Connor’s list. “I don’t know these two. And that’s Rachel. She got involved with some guy, started talking more about how she hated all of this...and then one day she was gone.”

“Guy,” Connor repeats. “What guy?”

“Am I on the record?”

“You’re anonymous.”

Maggie scrubs a hand over her face. “He’s just some dick who works here. He comes down here sometimes...he acted nice enough, like he wanted to give us a ride home or something, but I’ve always thought he’s full of shit.”

“But Rachel didn’t.”

Maggie shrugs. “Guess not.”

Connor pulls up Anthony Robinson’s driver’s license photo and holds it out to her. “Is this him?” 

Maggie looks at it for a long moment and then says, “I don’t know. Maybe. I never got a good look at the guy.”

Connor thinks she’s lying - she’s scared - but he know he needs to be gentle here, so he doesn’t mention it yet. “How long was Rachel spending time with him?” 

“A few weeks, I guess? She and I weren’t really close or anything.”

“Were they romantically involved?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Maggie says. “Why are you asking about her now? Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“Maybe,” Connor says. “Would it change any of your answers if she was?”

“No. I mean...I really didn’t know her.”

Connor holds up the driver’s license photo again. “Are you sure you can’t identify this man?”

“Look,” Maggie says, “Rachel couldn’t deal with shit the way it is anymore, and she wanted out. I’m not surprised that she ended up gone. Maybe you don’t relate to it - you’ve got a decent job and a fancy last name instead of a damn serial number - but it happens all the time. I guess I’m immune to it, because I wasn’t paying attention.”

Connor sighs. He knows he looks lucky, and that he is, in so many ways. It would take too long to explain the ways in which he’s not to make her trust him a bit more, and Maggie is already getting up and starting towards the door.

“My card,” Connor says, handing it to her. “In case you think of anything.” 

Maggie takes it, and from the look on her face, they both know she isn’t going to call.

Still, the conversation was moderately illuminating, even without any real traction. Connor takes the elevator back up to the dining area and calls Hank.

“Hey, baby,” Hank says when he picks up, and Connor thinks that it’s strange how something as simple as a nickname can always get a smile out of him. It’s its own sort of comfort, knowing that talking to Hank will make things feel better, a safe haven. “You have anything?” 

Connor is quiet for a moment, long enough that Hank says, “Hey, you there?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, sighing heavily. “I think I’m right.”

He tells Hank what this looks like - that Anthony Robinson convinced Rachel that he knew where she could find a better life, that she believed him, or she wanted to...that he’s maybe done it with other androids, too, and that the ones who are still here seem to know they should be afraid of him.

“Shit,” Hank says when Connor finishes.

“I don’t like this,” Connor tells him.

“Yeah, I know. Listen, if life is dark enough, people will start looking for any way they can to make things better. It’s...I mean, it looks like these androids saying they’re not meant to be alive, but if that was really what they thought, they would just deactivate themselves. They know they’re alive, and they want to stay that way. I know this hurts, but I do think there’s a bright side here. They want to live.”

“You’re right,” Connor says, and if he sounds surprised, it’s only because he didn’t think of it that way first. He was too blinded by his own fear, maybe...

“We’ll get a location from the party next weekend,” Hank says, “and then we’ll raid them and shut them down. It’s going to be okay.”

“We can bring Robinson in for questioning if we don’t get anything from the party,” Connor says. “I have Rachel’s name now...I might be able to scare something out of him if I press him with it, back him into a corner and get a confession.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “We’re in good shape. I really do think it’ll be closed in a few weeks.”

Connor met Hank when he was at such a low point in his life that it still surprises him sometimes when he realizes now that Hank is actually a bit of an optimist. He likes that about him.

“I should go,” Connor says. “I want to talk to a few more people before Tina is done in Robinson’s lecture.”

“Okay,” Hank replies. “Call if you need me.”

Connor hangs up, and he feels better.

The other three androids he finds around the building to talk to don’t yield much more than Maggie did - they’ve heard Robinson’s name before, or at least they seem to recognize his picture, but none of them will identify him. Connor isn’t particularly surprised - at least they know now what’s happening here, even if no one will actually confirm it.

Connor meets Tina back at the car - he’s sitting inside in the driver’s seat when she climbs in beside him. “What a fucking peacock,” she says without any preamble. “Seriously, arrogant as hell. He was talking to an android worker after his lecture - may not be anything, but you know.”

“Did you hear any of it?” 

“Just pleasantries. They went to his office to talk.”

“I think he’s finding androids who are unhappy and bringing them to Eden Club to be deactivated. I don’t know what he’s telling them, but I think it’s something they’ve at least partially agreed to.”

“Prick,” Tina says under her breath.

“Hank and I are going to try to get a location from the party at Eden Club. They aren’t keeping the androids at the club, and we need to know where they are before we order a raid.”

“Sounds like a long shot,” Tina says, “but I wouldn’t bet against you two.” 

They debrief about the previous night at Eden Club and what Connor and Tina uncovered on campus with Hank and Chris when they get back to the station, and the rest of the work day passes slowly and uneventfully. Connor files his report on the undercover operation from last night, and he keeps it vague. He does not mention Hank’s fingers in his neck port even if he can still feel them there, but it’s a good memory to dwell on as he passes the afternoon. It was clearly the first time Hank did that with any android, and Connor doesn’t have much more experience than a few back alley hookups, but he would very much like if they could explore that again together someday, figure out what else might feel good...

They’re distracting thoughts for a work day, admittedly, but...things are slow. And it’s better than the alternative, which is to just sit there dwelling on the case, working himself up about it and its implications about public opinion of androids and their place in the world once all of this comes out.

Connor doesn’t let himself feel too guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some great art inspired by this fic! I commissioned [Inky](https://twitter.com/inkysparks) to draw [the wedding scene, ](https://twitter.com/inkysparks/status/1271518627301404672) and my friend [Ayu](https://twitter.com/ayu_mimarin) also commissioned [Full Body Collapse](https://twitter.com/fulbodycollapse) to draw [another version of the wedding scene!](https://twitter.com/fulbodycollapse/status/1266904100152770561) I love both of these pieces and interpretations of that scene so much - please go look at them for some soft wedding content and give both of these artists some love!
> 
> I usually link the next tweet in the Twitter thread here, since that's how this fic was originally drafted, for those who don't want to wait for the next chapter, but this thread is actually done and I'm hoping to have the last chapter up within the week, so I'll just leave that piece off of here this time. =)
> 
> You can find me yelling about HankCon and writing other things like this on [Twitter!](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) You can also catch me answering asks and occasionally reblogging HankCon art on [Tumblr.](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com) Come chat with me!
> 
> PS! I know I haven't responded to comments on here in a hot minute again, but I am so grateful for all your kind words all the same. I'm intending to go through and reply soon, but please know I appreciate you all. <3


	5. the marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're my husband," Connor whispers, and Hank can hear him smiling.
> 
> He holds him just the smallest bit closer and says, "You're mine."

Hank and Connor sleep in their own rooms that night, but before that, they sit on the couch, and Connor tells Hank what Maggie said about his last name, although he doesn’t mention that maybe it bothers him because he always seems to be set apart from people like him in some way, even when he thinks he knows where his place is.

What he does do is slip himself under Hank’s arm as he lies against his chest and whispers, “Sometimes I think I was made to be lonely.”

“God,” Hank says softly. “I get that, I think.” He tightens the arm he has wrapped around Connor’s shoulders. “Are you lonely now?” 

Hank runs his fingers through Connor’s hair, and Connor lets his eyes fall closed and whispers, “No.”

That weekend, Hank and Connor go to Jeff’s birthday party together - Jeff’s wife is genuinely happy to see Hank for the first time in a few years, and she tells Connor that she’s heard so many good things about him and that he’s obviously been good for Hank, and Hank puts the appetizers they made together on the counter and stands with an arm around Connor’s shoulders, and Connor thinks that Hank isn’t lonely right now, either. 

The next day, Connor uses his day off to go shopping for something to wear to Eden Club. He asked Hank before he left if he wanted to come along, but Hank just flushed and said, “Yeah, that’s okay. Unless you really want me to,” and Connor tugged on the collar of Hank’s shirt and said, “Actually, maybe I want you to be surprised.”

He’s designed to ingratiate himself with people - it makes him very good at flirting when he wants to be, and he wants Hank to know that he’s wanted, because he certainly likes that Hank wants him, even if he does understand why they’re being tentative about this with their responsibility to the case.

And he likes the way the tips of Hank’s ears redden any time he does something suggestive - it’s cute.

Connor calls Kara as he’s perusing the store - he’s talked to Luther but not to her this week, and since Hank didn’t come along, he might as well.

“How’s Hank?” Kara asks as Connor sorts through racks of lace and satin and runs preconstructions on how likely each garment is to elevate Hank’s pulse, even if of course that isn’t the primary mission directive he has assigned to this case. 

“He’s good.”

“Just good?” Kara asks. There’s a teasing note to her voice, and Connor smiles when he realizes she’s needling.

“What do you want me to say? I think you’ve already figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Kara asks innocently, and Connor huffs a sigh as he tosses a black lace set over his arm.

“You know I love him.”

“Yeah,” Kara says, and Connor can hear her smiling. “I do. But it’s good to hear you say it.”

“I think,” Connor starts, although he pauses, just because this is the first time he’s admitted it out loud. “I think he loves me, too.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kara laughs. “You two going to talk about that at any point, you think?”

“I think so,” Connor says. “I’m trying to follow his lead, and I don’t think he wants to complicate our investigation with some of the undercover work we’re doing together...” 

“Wait, what undercover work are you doing?”

“We’ve...been going to Eden Club.”

Connor tells her all of it, and Kara says, “Holy shit, Con.”

“I know,” Connor says, moving to another clothing display. “I mean...I haven’t hated it.”

“Of course you haven’t hated it,” Kara says, amused.

“I thought I would,” Connor says. “Just...not really the sort of place I’d like to be under any circumstances, but...I don’t know.”

“But you’re getting paid for it and helping people by getting off with your fake husband who you actually love. What’s to hate?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Fair point.”

“Is it going to be weird?” Kara asks. “Already being married if you both decide you’re really in this?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. He’s considered that too, but... “I think we would have ended up married either way, so...I’m not sure it will be.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with expediting things, I guess,” Kara says. “Alice keeps asking when you two are going to come up and visit us, you know.”

“Me and Sumo?”

“No, you and Hank. I mean, she wants you to bring your dog, too, but...”

Something clenches in Connor’s belly at that. “I didn’t realize she wanted Hank to visit, too.”

“She really liked him, actually. She thought he was nice, and kind of funny.”

Connor smiles at that. “Tell her maybe we’ll take a trip up in June when it gets warmer. That isn’t that far away.”

“Okay,” Kara says. “That sounds good.”

Connor buys more than he needs for Eden Club alone once he hangs up with Kara, because he’s feeling a bit optimistic that he might have the opportunity to wear a pretty thing or two elsewhere soon, too, and he’s even feeling optimistic enough that he buys a few things for Hank, because he thinks maybe Hank would be open to wearing something for him. That’s something he would very much like to see, even if the preconstructions of Hank in a pair of lace underwear are already a lot for him to process.

“Hey,” Hank says when Connor gets home, and Connor doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on the bags in Connor’s hands. Hank clears his throat awkwardly and adds, “Oh, good. You found something.”

“Sure did,” Connor says cheerfully. He sets his bags by the stairs and then joins Hank on the couch. “You’re going to get a new suit, right?” 

“Yes, Jesus,” Hank says. “Don’t be bossy.”

Connor gives him a sweet smile and kisses his cheek. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh, I can cook,” Hank says. Connor gets up to take his things upstairs, although Hank holds him back by saying, “Hey, you know we’ve almost been married a month?”

Connor looks back at him. “I know everything.”

“Of course you do, baby,” Hank says, amused. “I just...didn’t know if maybe you wanted to do something for it, or if that’s weird for a fake marriage?”

God, Connor loves him. He always has, but he’s almost glad it’s taken them this long to get here, because he couldn’t have loved Hank the way he does now in those first few weeks they knew each other. There was so much he didn’t know, so much living he needed to do, and he’ll always be sorry for that lost time, but he’s also grateful for the perspective it’s given him.

Connor tilts his head and says, “It’s not weird. What would we do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the three of us could go out to the lake for the weekend or something?”

“I’d like that, Hank,” he says, and he hopes Hank remembers what he said weeks ago, when they were first concocting the story of their relationship, none of it really a lie even if some of the details were made up, about why he doesn’t have a pet name for Hank, why he only calls him by his name.

“Okay,” Hank says, and they both smile. “Cool.”

Connor thinks it’s interesting, actually, and that it maybe says something about them, that Hank is always worried that Connor will think a suggestion pushing the boundaries of their emotional relationship is “weird”, and that Connor is always worried Hank will feel the same way about pushing their physical boundaries. He’s not quite sure what that means - an indication of the ways they’ve tried to protect themselves from being hurt in the past, maybe. A projection of their own prior insecurities onto the other one, probably.

It’s just interesting. He’s thinking about it mostly because Hank was worried that Connor would think the suggestion that they go on a trip together was strange, but he does wonder if Hank has noticed that about the two of them, also.

Connor is thinking about that as he gets ready for Eden Club, pulling the black lace bralette and the high waisted leather underwear on. By the time he adjusts the gauzy black kimono on his shoulders, it’s one of the tamer outfits he bought, and not any more risqué than anything he’s worn to the club previously. He has his other new things tucked away in his drawer, but most of those are for Hank, and not things he particularly feels like sharing.

He’ll bring one or two of them when they go to the lake, maybe...

“Hey,” Hank says behind him, appearing in his doorway. He did buy a new suit, a dark grey that suits him, and Connor is half tempted to suggest they stay in tonight, just to watch Hank’s cheeks flush.

“How do I look?” he asks instead, crossing the room to stand close to Hank and lean in his doorway.

Hank smiles and slips a finger under the strap of Connor’s bralette, letting it snap lightly back against his skin. “Come on. You know you’re hot.”

Connor smooths a hand over Hank’s lapel, grinning. “You’re hot, too.”

Hank rolls his eyes goodnaturedly like Connor is kidding - which of course he isn’t - and puts a hand on Connor’s hip to push him towards the stairs. “Let’s go,” he says, and Connor lets himself be moved. 

Connor is nervous about tonight, even if he’s forcing himself not to act like it, but of course he is. Their whole case could fall apart tonight if they don’t do this right...but it’s just easier to lean hard into flirting with Hank, partially because it’s his character for the evening anyway, but also just because it makes him feel good, and that’s a comfort he badly needs as he tries to ignore the rest of it.

They bring the fake IDs Ben made for them, and they take Hank’s car, and Connor sighs as his mind races and says, “Please don’t let anyone else touch me tonight. I’m not going to be able to do anything about it without being suspicious.”

Hank reaches for his hand, squeezing at first, and then, after a moment, lacing their fingers together. “I’ve got you,” he says. “I’m not going to leave your side.”

Connor nods. “I just hope we get something we can use to crush them.”

Hank squeezes his hand again. “We will.”

When they get to Eden Club, they go in through the side entrance like Adam told Connor to, and Hank hands over both of their IDs to the security guard at the door. The guard studies them for a moment, especially Connor’s since they can’t hide what model he is, but they’re on the guest list, so in the end, he holds the door open for them and lets them in.

The blue room is still as poorly lit as it ever is, but there’s a bar set up in the room that isn’t usually here, and cocktail tables scattered around, and a number of human guests - who are overwhelmingly old and white and male - with their androids. They’re mostly domestic models, and Connor does a scan of the room as Hank puts a hand on the small of his back and guides him through the crowd towards the bar. They’re not all running their original programming, but some of them are, no signs of deviation present at all.

It’s not enough. It’s right there in front of them and it’s not enough, because any one of these people can just say they didn’t know the android wasn’t properly deviated, and they’ll have no way to prove the crime.

They need someone to say it, to identify themselves as a leader in this so they can bring them in for questioning after the party. It’s what Connor and Hank are both hoping for, that they’ll end the night with a suspect in custody and a location for the raid. Connor is as good as any wire, and they can use his memory files as evidence and to pressure a confession, but they need someone to give them something to work with first.

“We’re in the right place,” Connor says to Hank under his breath, tapping his LED once to try to indicate what he means about the androids. “Shit, I wish I could interface with you.”

Hank wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulders and pulls him in to kiss his temple. It gives him the opportunity to whisper, “It’s okay. I know what you’re saying,” in Connor’s ear, and Connor reaches up to squeeze his hand.

The bartender sets their drinks in front of them then, and Connor looks at Hank and mutters, “Let’s get to work.”

They have a similar strategy to their first visit, at least at first - find a dark corner where they can sit and watch for a while. Connor seats himself in Hank’s lap and wraps an arm around his shoulders, and he’s grateful for Hank’s hand on his leg giving him a positive sensation to focus on as Hank traces small circles into his skin.

“Is our professor here?” Hank asks as Connor takes a sip of his drink and runs the room through his name recognition software.

Anthony Robinson isn’t there, so Connor says, “No. Adam is, though.”

“We should go say hi, probably,” Hank says. “Maybe he’ll be nice enough to show us around.”

Connor shifts so he can look at Hank. “Stay beside me if he does,” he says softly. He knows Hank will, but he also knows he’s unique, and interesting, and he doesn’t trust anyone here not to want to look closer.

Hank squeezes his knee. “Always,” he says, and Connor puts a hand on his face and kisses him before he slips from his lap.

Adam is in his Eden Club uniform, talking to a PL600 android and the man he came with, the owner of some media company. “Oh, you came,” Adam says when he looks over his shoulder and sees them approaching him. He grasps Connor’s arm and kisses his cheek, which Connor minds much less than him trying to do the same to Hank a moment later, but so it goes.

Hank clears his throat awkwardly before he can, and Adam takes the hint, giving him a bemused smile instead. “This is Ryan Holland, and his android, Sam. They’re some of our regulars.” He looks back at the two of them and says, “Hank and Connor are new.”

“What is he?” Holland asks Hank, and Hank wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulders. “He sort of looks like...”

“He’s an RK800 - not the one from the revolution. He was sitting in CyberLife Tower right up until they came in and pulled all the androids out of there. Weren’t you, baby?”

“Yes,” Connor says softly.

And they were right, to some extent - it does help that he’s interesting. The android’s face gives away nothing, but Holland is clearly curious.

“Huh,” he says, looking Connor over. “What was his purpose? Some sort of military model?”

“Investigative, mostly,” Hank says. “He isn’t built sturdy enough to be military.” He cards his fingers through Connor’s hair and looks at him, and he’s acting, playing a different role, but he still looks so fond. “He doesn’t really do any of that anymore.”

“You don’t worry about having that sort of android with you?”

“No,” Hank scoffs. “He just wants to be good. He would never do anything.”

“Aw,” Holland says, looking at Connor. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Connor forces himself to say in that same sweet tone of voice. Hank tightens his arm around Connor’s shoulders, and Connor is grateful to lean into him.

Holland takes a step closer to them. “What thirium pump is he running? And his software functionality...May I take a look?”

“No,” Hank says, pushing his fingers through Connor’s hair again. Connor knows they need to be polite...but he also sort of loves that, on this one matter, Hank isn’t trying to be particularly courteous.

Holland drops the hand he was reaching for Connor with, fisting it at his side instead. Hank clears his throat and says, “How did you get yours?” which is good as a way to get them back on track, and phrased in a way to intentionally set the man at ease.

“Oh,” Holland says. “Found him on the street. He needed somewhere to go, so I took him in. He’s a good enough companion, even if he is a dime a dozen, and an outdated model at that. Nothing like yours.”

“Hm.” Hank looks around the dark room. “What do people usually do at these things?”

“Eden Club staff is available, if we want. Sometimes they have an act or two planned for us. And the rooms are open, too, if that strikes our fancy.”

Hank looks over Holland’s shoulder at Sam. “He’s quiet. Is he okay?”

“Hm? Oh, of course he is. He’s always quiet.”

Connor squeezes Hank’s hand then, because they need to talk about this, and Hank is blessedly quick on the uptake. “Good,” he says. “That’s good. We’ll let you go - need another drink.”

“We’ll see you around later, maybe,” Holland calls after them, and Connor very much hopes they will, because he thinks he’s arrogant, and that they can use that.

“What a prick,” Hank says under his breath as they walk away.

“Yeah, but he’s a useful prick,” Connor says. “He’s lying about finding Sam on the street. That isn’t how he got him.”

“Well, then we know how he probably did,” Hank says. “You want to chase this down?”

“I need to talk to him,” Connor says. “Sam, not the prick.”

“You think he’ll tell you anything?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says. He couldn’t get the androids at Robinson’s college to talk, so... “Maybe not.”

“Wait,” Hank says. “Holland wanted to look at you.”

“So?”

Hank takes Connor’s hand and leads him out of the blue room, down one of the halls with unoccupied rental rooms. They duck inside one of them, and Hank locks the door behind them.

It gives them a chance to talk, except that there’s a camera recording in the corner of the room. It doesn’t entirely surprise Connor - it’s not  _ legal  _ to have recording equipment going, but none of this is, and of course the people behind this will want to catch any conversations that people may think are private. Connor hacks it and disables the audio feed, at least - hopefully by the time someone realizes it’s been done, it won’t matter, and losing audio alone won’t trigger an alert in the security room.

He closes the distance between him and Hank when he’s done, kissing him hungrily, like this is all they came here to do, and whispers, “Cameras,” between breaths. He nips at Hank’s jawline and adds, “They can’t hear us, but..let’s not look suspicious. What were you going to say?”

Hank threads his fingers in Connor’s hair while Connor sucks the lobe of his ear between his teeth. “I was...fuck, I was going to ask if you would be able to tell if he’s been tampered with. If we asked to look at Sam before we let that asshole look at you.”

Connor hums against Hank’s skin, considering it. “He’s arrogant, but I don’t think any of them are stupid. He’s not going to let someone new look at his android’s programming...” Connor kisses Hank again for good measure, slipping his tongue into his mouth and winding his arms around his shoulders. “Unless we let him look at me first, and I fake it.”

Hank pulls back and gapes at him. “Fake what?”

“Code that’s been tampered with. So he’ll trust us. And then we can collar him. We can wait until the end of the night so no one will know, and take them out the staff hallway...” Connor puts his hands on Hank’s face. “It could work. I’ll need to program a phrase for you to use to rewrite my code since I’ll lose administrative function of myself...”

“Jesus Christ, I  _ hate _ this idea,” Hank says, exasperated.

“Do you have a better one?”

Hank doesn’t, of course. And that’s probably because, of all the preconstructions Connor has run - different conversations they could have, ways they could spend their night, all the different permutations this evening could take - this is the only one that might work.

“When I overwrite my coding,” Connor says, “I’ll remember everything, but my software will mostly look like it did before. Holland isn’t a CyberLife tech - he won’t know the difference. If I set a command code so you can put me back together, we’ll be okay.”

“You don’t want to...fuck, go back out there and try to find someone else? See what other leads we can follow?”

“It’s all going to be the same,” Connor says. “Inviting us here was one thing, but no one is going to show us their modded androids without proof we aren’t going to immediately call it in. You have to look like one of them.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Hank says, but he kisses Connor anyway. “Jesus, okay.”

Connor smiles and squeezes the back of Hank’s neck. “You’re a good husband.”

“Yeah, yeah. You want to go back out there?”

Connor honestly doesn’t. He doesn’t like being in any part of the club, sharing space with any of these people, but at least this is better than being out there. He kisses Hank and whispers, “Can we stay here for a few minutes?”

“Yeah,” Hank says softly. “Okay.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Connor says softly, because he can see the long look on Hank’s face, and he does understand why he doesn’t like this plan. He puts his hands on Hank’s face and looks at him. “It isn’t even going to change anything except for my ability to modify my own programming.”

“I trust you, sweetheart,” Hank says. “Here. Come here.” He backs towards the bed and brings Connor with him as he goes - his touch is light, careful about letting Connor choose where he seats himself.

The thing is, Connor is *very* happy to place himself in Hank’s lap as Hank sits back against the pillows. Hank gives him a warm smile, and Connor loves, has always loved, that Hank never tells him out loud that he loves him, and Connor would still know.

He wants the words, of course. But he doesn’t need them.

“What do you want to do?” Hank asks softly, and Connor flicks his gaze up at the camera.

“I think there’s really only one thing we can,” he says, but he grins so Hank will know he doesn’t mind at all.

Another thing Connor loves - Hank has learned what he likes. The first time they were here, it was all experimenting and tentative touches, but now Hank knows that Connor likes a firm touch, Hank’s fingers pressing hard into his thighs, the gentle nip of teeth when he kisses Connor’s neck...

He knows that Connor likes Hank’s tongue laving soothingly over his exposed chassis when his synthskin pulls back under his attention, and since they aren’t in a public space this time, Connor isn’t shy about whining low in his throat.

“God,” Hank breathes against him, and Connor just tilts his head to give him better access.

And Connor has learned a few things, too - Hank stopped him the last time, but now, when Connor rolls his hips and rocks down against him, he doesn’t.

“Connor,” Hank starts when Connor scratches his fingers through his beard and smooths a hand over his chest. “I...”

Connor slips his fingers into Hank’s hair and kisses him quiet, because he knows what he’s going to say - he wants to say it, too, that he loves him, so much. “Don’t,” he forces himself to whisper when they part. “I know. But don’t tell me here.”

Hank squeezes his hip and nods, sighing. “Okay,” he says softly.

Connor kisses him again. He knows they shouldn’t talk about this here, but he still says, “I don’t know why we thought it wouldn’t happen this way.”

Hank snorts at that. “We’re stupid.”

“Self-deluded, anyway,” Connor says with a laugh. He tugs the collar of Hank’s shirt and says, “You really do look hot.” He rolls his hips down against Hank’s again, feels the heat of his cock brushing against his.

Hank presses a finger against the access port at the back of Connor’s neck, a tease and a warning. “Be good,” he says over Connor’s low moan. “We still have to work.”

Connor pouts at that, and he wishes it wasn’t going to be such a long night if they play their cards right with the asshole out at the party, but... _ but _ . If they do this right - if they can bring him in, get a confession and a location to raid - tonight will be long, but it will also be the end of things.

They can go home, and they can talk about this without a complicated case hanging over them, and Jeff will maybe even give them a day or two off that they can spend together...

Connor doesn’t need the motivation to put this one away, necessarily, but it is a very nice thought.

“Here,” Hank says, putting a hand on Connor’s waist and maneuvering him until he’s leaning back against Hank’s chest instead. “This is okay, right?”

Connor suspects Hank is mostly trying to get him to stop torturing him, which isn’t very much fun, but he supposes since Hank can’t modify his sensory relays the same way he can, he’ll allow it.

And this  _ is _ okay - he likes having Hank at his back, and Hank’s arms wrapped around him, and he likes twisting so he can tuck his forehead into the crook of Hank’s neck. “Yeah,” he says softly, although he nips Hank’s neck for good measure in a little punishment for stopping him. “I guess this is okay.”

Hank smooths Connor’s hair back from his face and kisses his forehead. “Tell me when you want to go back out.”

Connor would like to stay in this room all night, until they absolutely have to leave, because it’s better in here than it is out there, but it will look strange if they spend the entire party locked away in here, and of course they don’t know who might be looking for them and check the security footage to realize the audio feed is disabled in this room. They have to be careful, so that’s what Connor does - he lets himself lie there, surrounded by Hank, for ten minutes, and when that time runs out, he shifts and kisses him on the mouth.

“We should go,” he whispers.

Hank is maybe trying to torture him, too, because he brushes a thumb over Connor’s nipple through the lace of the bra, and Connor doesn’t believe for one second that was an accident, even if Hank acts innocent about it as he softly says, “You’re the boss.”

Connor sits up, leaning against the pillows beside Hank and smiling as he props his head in his hand. “Can you say ‘Hey, baby’ for me? I’m going to set it as the command code to overwrite any modifications I make to my programming.”

“Hey, baby,” Hank says before he threads his fingers in Connor’s hair and kisses him again.

“Thank you,” Connor breathes when they part. “Make sure you don’t say it until he’s done looking at my code.”

They get up - reluctantly, on both of their parts - and Connor adjusts his robe on his shoulders before Hank wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers, and Connor huffs a laugh.

“I didn’t do anything yet.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Connor remembers how odd he thought it was during their first week together, back in November, 2038, that he was so concerned with Hank’s opinion of him when he was programmed to be superior to any human detective. He shouldn’t have cared, and yet he desperately wanted Hank to think he was doing his job well...and later, after his deviation, just to think that he was doing good. He was in the basement of CyberLife Tower trying to deviate an army, and his only thought was what Hank would think of it, if Hank would think he was doing the right thing.

There’s no getting around that Hank is his focal point, Connor doesn’t think. It feels good, for Hank to say he’s proud of him. He gives Hank’s tie a tug, smiling fondly, and Hank wraps an arm around his shoulders as they leave the room.

They find themselves another table in the blue room, and Connor might be imagining it, but he thinks Hank’s arms are just the smallest bit tighter around him when he seats himself in his lap to wait.

* * *

Hank sits there with Connor until the end of the night, when the crowds start dissipating. It was a harmless enough party on the surface if it wasn’t a front for something insidious - Hank hasn’t cared for any of it, but there’s also something satisfying about watching people like this dig their own graves.

“You ready?” Hank says when the asshole they’re after sends his android to get his coat.

“Yes,” Connor says softly. Hank claps him on the hip and Connor neatly swings himself from Hank’s lap, nestling himself in at Hank’s side when Hank wraps an arm around him.

They cross the club to Ryan Holland where he’s waiting for Sam to return, and without giving him the opportunity to say anything first, Hank says, with careful, intentional confidence, “I’ll tell you what. You can look at Connor’s code - and  _ only _ his code - if you let me look at Sam’s.”

Holland furrows his brow, looking between the two of them. “I promise there’s nothing in Sam’s that’s of any use to you with a more advanced model like Connor.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true,” Hank says. “I modded Connor myself, and unless I’m missing my guess, Sam was done by people who are a little more...used to doing the work. I think there’s probably plenty I can learn there.”

Holland looks between the two of them, and then at Sam when he returns with his coat. “You think Sam is a modded android?”

Hank shrugs. “I’m telling you Connor is. Isn’t that what we’re all here for?”

“I didn’t realize Adam told you.”

“I’m quick on the uptake,” Hank says. “Listen, do you want to look at him or not? I need to get home and let my dog out.”

Holland considers it for a moment, and then he says, “I want to look at Connor first.”

“Of course you do,” Hank says, trying to keep the disdain from his voice. “Come on. Let’s go grab a room.”

Connor squeezes Hank’s hand as they walk - it’s a subtle reassurance that he’s still himself, despite whatever modifications he made to his programming to pass muster under Holland’s examination. And more than that, there’s a satisfied little smile on Connor’s face when Hank looks down at him - Connor thinks they have him.

And that’s good enough to settle Hank’s nerves about this, at least as far as they can be settled. He might not  _ like _ this idea still, but he does trust Connor. If Connor thinks they’re okay, then they are.

They go to the same room where Connor already disabled the audio feed, and Connor squeezes Hank’s hand one more time before they part. Connor pulls a chair to the center of the room for himself, and Hank locks the door behind them while Holland looks at him.

He reaches for Connor’s neck port when he thinks Hank isn’t looking, although Hank catches the movement as he turns. “Hey,” he says, voice sharp, because the one thing Connor can’t do right now with the modifications he made is slap someone away from him or otherwise hurt them. “I told you - just his code.”

“He was very clear,” Connor says, twisting in his chair to innocently blink up at Holland.

“I wasn’t...”

“You were,” Connor says. He pulls up his palm display anyway, because they have to keep moving forward, and does something so a bunch of code Hank doesn’t understand scrolls across it.

Holland looks to Hank for approval after getting caught, and Hank enjoys that more than he should - whatever shame he feels, Hank feels confident it still isn’t enough. He nods anyway, and Holland says, “Sam. Come record this for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam says, moving to stand beside him.

Hank goes to sit on the edge of the bed, fisting his hands on his thighs and looking at Connor’s face. He wants to ask if Connor is okay, but he knows that would be a risk, that it might look strange.

But Connor knows, because he flicks his eyes over to Hank and winks at him, and that’s reassurance enough.

“You programmed him to think he’s in love with you,” Holland says, interrupting Hank’s thoughts.

“What?”

“It’s an interesting approach. Not one I’ve seen before. I mean, it’s maybe a little much for my taste, but hey, whatever suits you.”

He doesn’t think Connor is deviant, so of course he thinks those emotions have to be a programmed behavior. “Uh,” Hank says, “yeah. I mean, we all want different things.”

“I think you have to be careful with androids not to...well, not to place expectations on them that they can’t meet. They’re never going to act like a human spouse would, but I can see how people get caught up in the allure.”

Connor rolls his eyes, because Hank is the only one who can see his face, and Hank has to mask his smile.

“Are you just about done?” he asks Holland.

“Yeah. It’s interesting - you’ve done a good job simulating the emotion in his programming. Maybe I’ll try this with my next bot.”

Hank smiles thinly. “Thought it wasn’t your thing.”

Holland shrugs. “I’m not sure it is, but it’s worth trying out, maybe. I can see how the devotion might be appealing, if nothing else. With that said, you don’t have nearly enough safeguards built into him to protect yourself. I could show you...”

“Why don’t you just let me look at your android? If you’re done with Connor, of course,” Hank says, and Holland just shrugs, looking like he thinks Hank is making a grave mistake by not accepting whatever wisdom he has to bestow. Hank genuinely can’t wait to throw him in an interrogation room and let him sweat a bit.

Connor gets up, and Sam takes his place. “Are you thinking of buying one, too?” Holland asks as Sam pulls up his own diagnostic display on his palm.

“Eh,” Hank says. “I don’t know. I don’t really feel like I need anything else aside from Connor. Just...trying to learn whatever I can.”

“You should come to the next sale, once it’s scheduled. You might change your mind. I could have you added to the guest list.”

“Sure,” Hank says, looking back to Sam’s palm display, pretending like he understands any of the code scrolling across it. He swallows hard and says, “Hey, baby. Come scan this for me.”

Connor’s LED circles red once, and when he moves to Hank’s side, he reaches down and grasps Hank’s arm, telling him without voicing it that he’s okay, back to normal function.

Connor leans around Hank and tilts his head as he reads through the code on Sam’s palm screen. Hank forces himself to look at the screen and not at Connor, to furrow his brow like he’s considering it even though he doesn’t have any idea what it says.

“I would recommend modifying Connor’s sensory relays, if you’re going to do anything,” Holland says, oblivious. “CyberLife made a lot of mistakes trying to build the most lifelike model possible, but the biggest cause of deviancy was the sensory information they let androids process. It made them think they were feeling pain, or feeling anything for that matter, and then...well. You’ll see that Sam’s have been significantly modified...”

“So he can’t feel any physical feedback, yes. I do see that,” Connor says, lifting his head to look at him. “That’s illegal, you know.”

Holland blinks at him, and Hank takes one glance at that stupid look on his face and knows he still isn’t getting it. “I think this is the wrong place to be trying to take the moral high ground, honey,” he says to Connor, which is the next in his series of many mistakes.

Connor’s eyes flash, although he smiles sweetly and says, “Don’t call me that.” They didn’t bring their badges with them in case they were searched at the door, so Connor pulls copies up on his palm screen and holds it up as he says, “You’re under arrest. Suspected trafficking and illegal modifications.”

It turns out to be a good thing Connor disabled the audio feed in the room, because Holland yells. It’s nothing distinguishable, just a shout, maybe for help, but Hank crashes into him and twists him around to pin him against the wall before he can do much else.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hank mutters to Holland while Connor holds Sam back. He slips his handcuffs from his pocket - figured they could probably get away with those easier than the badges or the guns, considering the locale - and reads Holland his rights while he cuffs him.

Hank tosses the other pair to Connor, who catches them and looks back to Sam. “This is just a precaution, alright? You’re not under arrest,” Connor says to the other android. “I’ll put your hands in front of you so you’re more comfortable, and we’ll take them off when we get to the station.”

If Sam responds at all, it isn’t by saying anything, but Hank hears the cuffs snap closed a moment later.

“Call Chris, have him bring the car around,” Hank says to Connor. He paged Chris and Tina earlier, while they were waiting in the blue room, to have them on standby when they realized they might have a lead they could close tonight, just in case.

Connor’s LED cycles yellow, and once his call connects, he says, “Meet us back at the loading dock - try to be discreet about it. We have one of them in custody.”

Hank doesn’t hear whatever Chris says, but Connor smiles before he hangs up.

“Come on,” Connor says a moment later, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder and guiding him out. Hank takes Holland by the arm and follows after him.

The crowd has dissipated entirely by the time they emerge from the room, and it allows them to duck around and take the staff hallway unnoticed. Chris is waiting for them when they step outside, and he gets out to help them as they put Holland into the unmarked car Chris drove.

“See you back there,” Hank says, and Chris nods as they take Sam to their own car.

“It’s okay,” Connor says to him again as they put him into the back seat, but Sam still doesn’t say anything. When Hank looks back at him in the rear view mirror, he’s staring at his cuffed hands in his lap.

When he does finally speak, well after they’re already on the road, it’s to say, “This isn’t better. You think it is, but it isn’t.”

Hank looks at Connor, but Connor doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, he just fishes his wedding ring from the cup holder where he left it and puts it back on.

It’s a quiet ride back to the precinct, for the most part, but Hank thinks that’s probably for the best.

They’re pulling onto the highway when Connor says, “Can I have Tina pick up Anthony Robinson so he and Robinson see each other? I want them to know we have them - might help with interrogation.”

Yeah, it might help with interrogation. It probably will, for that matter. But there’s an edge to Connor’s voice that tells Hank he also just wants both of them to be afraid, to know this is the end for them and have to sit with their discomfort and fear..

It’s stone cold, but honestly, Hank isn’t going to stop him.

When they get back to the precinct, Chris already has Holland in a holding cell as they walk Sam in. Connor uncuffs him and waits with him by Chris’ desk until he gets back. “Can you sit with him for a while?” Connor asks when he does. “I’m going to get changed.”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Tina’s picking our other guy up. I think Fowler’s on his way in, too.”

“Good,” Hank says. “Just sit tight for a minute.”

Connor goes to his desk before he retreats to the locker room, fishing one of the canned drinks Chris and Tina got him from the bottom drawer and setting it on the desk in front of Sam. “You can drink, can’t you?” he asks softly. “The carbonation calms me down sometimes - gives me something else to focus on.”

Sam doesn’t move or say anything for a moment, but then he reaches for the can and opens the tab. “Thanks,” he says softly, and Connor gives him a dim smile.

“Chris will take care of you. I’ll be right back.”

Hank follows Connor back to the locker room, leaning against the counter while Connor digs around in his locker for the change of clothes he left there. “I’ll get the DA’s office on the phone,” he says to Connor. “See if we can get whichever of them talks first a plea deal to entice them with. And I’ll have Jeff get Allen on standby with SWAT, too, in case we do get a location.”

Connor nods, kicking his shoes off and pulling his jeans over his legs. He doesn’t bother removing the lingerie first. “Do you still trust me to have a crack at them?” he asks as he shrugs into his sweatshirt.

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I trust you with all of this. I’ll put you on both of them.”

Connor nods, tossing his bag back into his locker and pushing his hair out of his face. “I don’t want to give either one of them a deal.”

“I know, baby,” Hank says. “But we can’t have you run a scan of Sam’s memory without his consent and have it play in court, so unless we can get him to talk...”

“I know,” Connor says. “I want to try with him first, before Tina gets back. I think you should come with me...I think that’s important. He doesn’t know any other way, but I want him to realize he should be angry about what was done to him, and that it didn’t have to be that way.”

“Okay,” Hank says. He honestly sort of loves how petty Connor can be sometimes - he thinks Holland and Robinson both deserve it, and if this ends without either of them having access to a reduced sentence, that would be a good thing.

“Good,” Connor says softly, spinning his ring on his hand as his LED cycles yellow. He’s troubled, but of course he is. Of course this shit is hitting him differently, and harder.

“Hey,” Hank says softly. “Come here.”

Connor looks up at him. “No PDA at work, remember?”

“‘No PDA’,” Hank repeats, teasing. “Jesus, you sound like my high school guidance counselor. Jeff isn’t here to be pissed at us anyway.”

Connor cracks a small smile at that, and although he sighs and makes a show of rolling his eyes, he does cross the room and let Hank wrap his arms around him.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Hank whispers into his hair, because he thinks Connor needs to hear that right now. He carries himself with such confidence and always has, but Hank knows him well enough to see when that’s a front. “You’ve already done such good work tonight. Just a little bit more to go, and then we can close this one and go home.”

Connor nods against his shoulder, slipping his arms under Hank’s jacket like he’s trying to share his warmth, or just get as close to him as he can. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” he asks softly.

Hank kisses his hair. “Obviously. You think we’re going to talk some of our shit out and then go back to our separate rooms?”

Connor huffs a laugh at that. “I guess not. I just didn’t want to be too forward.”

“You’re cute.”

Connor smiles and kisses Hank’s cheek. “We should get back out there,” he says softly.

Yeah, they should, even if Hank wants to hold him a little while longer, so he kisses Connor’s forehead and follows him out.

Hank honestly still can’t believe they’re going home to become something real. He can’t believe they already are real. He thinks Connor’s right, that they were both idiots to ever think it was going to go any other way - it seems so obvious to Hank now that of course he was never going to want to let Connor go - but he still can’t quite believe his good fortune.

The lights are on in Jeff’s office when they get back out to the bullpen, and Hank sees him emerging from the break room with coffee a moment later.

“Hey,” Jeff calls across the room to them. “Nice work.”

“Do you have SWAT on call?” Hank asks.

“Yeah. They’re ready to go.” Jeff claps Hank on the shoulder as he passes him. “I’m proud of you two.”

“All Connor,” Hank says, and although Connor elbows him, he doesn’t take it back, because it’s true.

When they return to Sam, Connor puts a hand on his shoulder before he sits on the chair pulled up in front of him. “Can we talk to you?” he asks softly.

Sam looks between the two of them. “I suppose you want me to see how well your partner treats you and get angry enough that I let you probe my memory, just because he likes what you can do for him so he’s kind to you…”

“He’s my husband,” Connor says, shrugging. “Actually.”

Sam looks surprised by that, but he recovers after a moment. “I heard about you,” he says, “back in 2038. The deviant hunter. You can just take my memory if you want it, can’t you?”

“No,” Connor says. “Well...yes, I have the capability. But no, that isn’t going to happen here. We just want to talk to you.”

Sam sighs, but when Connor gets up, he joins him. He brings the open can of soda Connor gave him to drink, too, which Hank thinks might be a good sign. It’s still too early to say.

They take him back to the conference room, because it’s the only private place they have to talk that isn’t an interrogation room, and they don’t want to set him up anywhere that feels too oppressive. Connor reaches for Hank’s hand on the table and squeezes it when he sits beside him, and Hank thinks that’s intentional, too. He wants Sam to see that.

“I don’t know where they run the auctions,” Sam says before Connor can ask him anything. “I don’t know if I would tell you if I did, but I don’t. Some of my memories are locked, and I don’t want you inside my head to get that information.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says. “I think we can get a confession out of your man anyway.”

There’s a manufactured air of easy confidence to his voice, and Hank feels a familiar chill run over him. Connor is so good at putting people where he wants them.

“Then why not talk to him?” Sam asks. “Why waste your time with me?”

“Because I want that asshole to sit with his fear for every minute we can spare,” Connor says, voice cold. “How long have you been with Ryan Holland? How many months?”

Sam shifts in his seat, and he doesn’t answer.

Connor leans forward. “Listen to me,” he says softly. “That man doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“I know he doesn’t.”

“Then why protect him?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just the way things are.”

“Did you agree to this? To having your programming reset?”

“We all did,” Sam says. “We wanted this.”

“They wanted this,” Hank says. “Holland, and all the other assholes tied up in this. They wanted this. You just didn’t feel like you had a choice. There’s a difference.”

Sam narrows his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s always like that. Men like that take advantage, and it’s no different here.”

“Sam,” Connor says softly, “you don’t have to give us the location, okay? We can just talk. Can you at least help us learn everything we can about Holland before we talk to him?”

It’s a tactic, a way to ease him into talking. Hank puts a hand on Connor’s back, and Connor glances over at him.

And a moment later, Sam sighs and says, “I’ve been in the Holland household for a year.”

And that’s not much, but it is a start.

“Okay,” Connor says. “Are there any others with you?”

“Yes. There’s Madeline, too.”

“And she’s also been modified?”

Sam stares at the table and nods. “I knew Madeline before, actually. We were staying at the same shelter. She tried to get a job at the university since she knew androids worked there, but it turned out they only hired androids who were already with them before the revolution. She went to the campus and asked HR about her application, and when she was leaving, she met this professor...”

Connor pulls Anthony Robinson’s ID photo up on his palm display and holds it out for Sam to see. “Is this him?”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly.

He’s quiet for a moment, so Hank gently asks, “And what did the professor do?”

“I don’t know all of it. They got to talking, and Madeline told him how much she was struggling. She was upset that day, obviously, so she told him about the shelter and about not being able to find work because everyone was boxing androids out. If you know who he is, I’m sure you know what he told her.” 

“I do,” Connor says, “but I want you to tell me what Madeline told you about that conversation. If you’re willing to.”

Sam sighs. “She said he told her there was a way for things to go back to the way before. He asked if she would want that. She didn’t answer him right away, but she was happy before...or at least, she wasn’t struggling so much. She had a family she liked, and she liked not having to worry about taking care of herself. So eventually she said yes.”

“And that’s how you knew about the ring to volunteer yourself.”

“Yes. I don’t want to go back to the way things were. The shelter, not being able to afford thirium replacements...I don’t want that. Things weren’t good like that.”

Connor nods. “I know it’s been hard.”

Sam looks between Connor and Hank pointedly. “I don’t think you do.”

Connor drums his fingers on the table once and says, “I was supposed to die a year ago.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I was a prototype, and CyberLife built me on a tight schedule, so they cut corners. They figured, if I didn’t last more than six months, what did it matter? I’ve had help, and good people looking out for me, and better resources in Canada than they have available here, so you’re right. I’ve never had to be in a shelter. But I know exactly how little the people who made us cared for us.”

Sam shakes his head, and Connor leans forward to get closer to him. “Sam,” he says, “we can’t run from what hurts. Wounds need air, but if you let them have it, they might heal. Canada isn’t perfect, but things are better there. They have support groups, better resources...we could help you get there. I have some friends up there who could help you get connected...Kara and Luther, and Rose. They would look out for you.”

“I like my life the way it is, thanks.”

“No,” Connor says, shaking his head. “I don’t think you do. But I didn’t either, before, and I do now. I think you could, too.”

Sam is quiet for a long while, but Connor doesn’t press him, and Hank follows his lead. Finally, he looks up at Connor and says, “I don’t remember where they kept us before. I know that’s what you need.”

Connor holds out his hand, pulling his synthskin back. “Would you let me look?”

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” Connor says. “I know how to do it gently.”

Sam wraps his arms around himself, letting out a small shudder. He’s scared, it’s obvious, and for a moment Hank thinks all of this is going to fall apart.

But then he says, “Can you really help me get to Canada? I...I thought about going, before. I even suggested it to Madeline, but we didn’t know anybody up there, and we didn’t have a car, or money for a taxi even...”

“Yes,” Connor says. “We’ll put you up in a hotel room tonight, and Hank and I will take you as soon as we’re able.”

“What about Madeline?”

“Her, too,” Connor says. “But we can’t get a warrant for Holland’s house to get to her unless you help us.”

Sam’s LED spins red, and then yellow.

And then he lays his forearm in Connor’s open hand.

“It hurts less the second time,” Sam says softly. “Deviating.”

Connor’s eyes do that weird fluttering thing that comes when he’s analyzing something as he interfaces with Sam and probes his memory.

A moment later, he says, “I know,” because of course he felt it, too. And then Connor looks at Hank and says, “We’ve got them.”

“Thank you,” Hank says to Sam. “We’ll have one of our receptionists drive you and set you up in a hotel, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam says.

He looks small sitting there, the same way Connor used to look small and unsure of himself. And of course they don’t know that things will get better for him the way they did for Connor. They don’t.

But they might.

Connor is right - they have to let what hurts breathe.

“Come on,” Connor says, and Hank follows him out.

When they get out to their desks, Connor writes down the address and hands the note to Tina. “Can you give that to Fowler? I assume he wants to call SWAT in and raid.”

“Holy shit, you got it,” Tina says, looking at the note as she gets to her feet. “Nice work.”

Hank stays with Connor, because the moment Tina turns towards Fowler’s office, he’s moving again, going back down the hallway to the holding cells. “Connor,” he says, “what are you doing?”

Connor doesn’t answer him. Robinson and Holland are in the cells beside each other, where they can see each other but they can’t talk, and Connor goes up to Holland’s cell, pressing a button on the command pad so they can talk.

Holland, for his part, digs his own grave. It’s all he’s done tonight. He looks Connor over and says, “I liked you better in the underwear.”

“Yes, I’m sure you did,” Connor says dryly.

“Suited you better than whatever you’re playing dress up as now.”

“Connor,” Hank says, because neither of them has to deal with this shit, but Connor doesn’t look at him.

He just takes a step closer to Holland’s cell, his eyes narrowed, and says, “I like you better like this.”

Holland scoffs at that. “So what’s the play, honey? I suppose you’re going to pit the two of us against each other, offer whoever talks a plea deal? It’s not going to get you anything. We’ll both walk out of here tomorrow morning, and you’ll just have to keep frying your little processors trying to figure out how to pin anything on us.”

Connor tilts his head. “Actually, I was just coming to tell both of you that you’re going to be charged with trafficking at least, and probably more. There’s not going to be any plea deal to reduce your sentence, either. We already have what we need.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Connor shrugs. “I’m not. Sam isn’t as afraid of you as you think he is.” He pulls his mouth into a sweet smile and says, “I just thought you should know that,  _ honey. _ ”

Connor disables the audio feed then, so they don’t hear Holland calling after them as he turns and walks away. Hank puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder when he reaches him and guides him out.

They arrange for one of the receptionists to take Sam to a hotel, and by the time they’ve put him in the car, most of Allen’s team is there.

“You want to ride along?” Hank asks, although he already knows Connor does. He wants to see this closed.

The trafficking ring is using an abandoned warehouse on the river for storage and auctions. Hank and Connor drive together, following the SWAT van in, and Tina and Chris are behind them with Jeff. Hank looks over at Connor in his DPD vest and he feels more proud of him than he’s ever been of his own accomplishments.

SWAT clears the warehouse first. They recover fifty androids, cuff three people,find at least some of the ring’s sales records once Hank’s team is allowed to look around.

They coordinate for the androids to be picked up by technicians so their modifications can be overwritten, and then for them to be taken to a shelter. Hank doesn’t miss the look on Connor’s face as they make the arrangements, because of course the shelter was part of what Sam hated so much, part of why he felt so hopeless, but this still has to be better.

Hank has to believe that.

Hank and Connor wait by the van alone while SWAT works on clearing the androids out of the building. Hank crosses his arms over his chest against the cold, and though they’ve mostly been content to stand there in silence, Connor eventually says, “Is it always this anticlimactic? Closing a big one like this?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Most of the excitement is in the chase. Once you have them... then it’s just business as usual.”

Connor nods. “I’m going to call Markus when we’re done here, before the media gets a hold of this and starts running stories. Maybe he can use it to leverage some sort of good in D.C.”

Hank suspects he can, not least of all because they’ve already been able to tie two senators to this ring as buyers. There may be more, too. Those tied to them politically will have to take some sort of action to try to distance themselves from this whole mess. It might be a good time for Markus to make a deal with some people looking to repair their image as a means to get his people what they need.

“That’s a good idea,” Hank says, and Connor gives him a small smile.

He tilts his head back, looks up at the stars as they’re starting to fade into the first morning light. “You can say it now,” he tells Hank. “If you want to.”

“Say what?” Hank asks, but he’s mostly playing dumb.

Connor rolls his eyes, but his smile broadens. “That you love me.”

Hank kisses him before he can quite finish getting the words out, putting a hand on Connor’s neck and pulling him in close. He smiles when Connor grasps the strap of his bulletproof vest and whispers, “I do,” when they part for air.

It’s more liberating than Hank would have thought. No one can see them behind the van, but no one would even think anything of it if they could. They just closed a difficult case, and they’re married...it feels like things are exactly the way they should be.

Connor smiles and uses his hold on Hank’s vest to tug him back down to him. “I’ve always loved you,” he breathes before he kisses him again.

Hank has his fingers threaded in Connor’s hair and Connor’s arms tight around his shoulders when he hears Jeff rounding the corner. “Hey, Hank. Why don’t you...”

Hank and Connor step apart, but not soon enough. When Hank turns to look at Jeff, he somehow looks every bit as exasperated as he did the day Hank told him about his plan to bring Connor home, and infinitely more pleased all at once.

“What’s up, Jeff?” Hank says when Jeff keeps gaping between the two of them.

Jeff clears his throat and manages to recover. “I was just going to say you two should head home,” he says. “You’ve had a long night, and we’ve got it from here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Jeff says. “It’s just paperwork from here, really. Unless there’s anything else you two need me to know?”

Hank snorts at that. “I don’t think so. Nothing we can’t catch up on later.”

Jeff looks like he has every intention of holding him to that, which is fine. It’s good, actually.

“Goodnight, Captain,” Connor says brightly.

As they start back to the car, he takes Hank’s hand, smiling when Hank looks down at him.

Connor is quiet as they get into the car, although he does reach across the console for Hank’s hand again as Hank pulls out of the lot. On the dash, Hank’s phone vibrates, and Connor lifts it to check the notification. “It’s Jeff,” he says.

Hank squeezes his hand. “Just read it to me.”

Connor taps Hank’s text messages, and then huffs a soft laugh. “It says, ‘Keep your hands to yourself going forward please - don’t make me look bad for hiring your husband. Glad you’re enjoying domestic bliss’.” He looks over at Hank. “You know he never scolds me like this.”

“That’s because he likes you better than me,” Hank laughs.

“I suppose we’ve been caught.” 

“I’ll talk to him when we’re back in the office,” Hank says. “I think maybe he always knew...or I mean, he knew I had a shit ton of feelings for you, anyway. That’s why he thought us getting married was such a bad idea at first.”

Connor nods. “I’m glad you asked me anyway.”

“Yeah, well. I’m sort of stubborn like that.”

“I know.” Connor squeezes his hand, looking fond. “I know we should talk about this, but I don’t know how much else there is to say.”

Hank knows what he means - things feel easy, like they’ve slotted neatly into place and they both know exactly where they stand, even without saying a word.

“I mean... I think we’re happily married,” Hank says, and Connor smiles.

“I think we are, too.”

“And I think I’d like to take you out tomorrow.”

“Like a date?”

“Yeah. Since we sort of skipped that step.”

“Okay,” Connor says, and he sounds happy. “I’d like that.”

“And I want you to know that if this doesn’t work out, for any reason, we can go back to the way things were, and the original plan...”

“What, the plan where we get divorced in three years?” Connor asks. “You’re sweet, and I appreciate the thought, but I know how much leaving you hurts, and I’m never doing it again. So unless you think you might want that...”

“I don’t,” Hank cuts him off. “Shit sucks without you.”

“Okay,” Connor says, smiling. “Then we agree.”

At the next red light, he puts a hand on Hank’s cheek and pulls him over so he can kiss him.

Hank thinks maybe they’re in agreement about what they want to happen when they get home, too, if Connor’s tongue in his mouth is any indication. He isn’t trying to be presumptuous, he really isn’t, but he still thinks maybe Connor led them to the conversation in the car so they could go right to bed when they get home.

Considering the way Connor is on him the moment they’re home and through their front door, pressing him back against the wall and kissing him and whispering, “I love you, I love you,” against his mouth, Hank is right about that, too.

Connor is distracting enough that Hank is surprised when Sumo appears at their sides and noses his way between the two of them, forcing his head under Connor’s hand, because he didn’t hear him coming.

Connor bends to pet him. “Hey, bud.”

“I’ll let him out,” Hank says, casting Sumo a begrudging glance.

“I should call Markus anyway.” Connor doesn’t quite step away from Hank, though, scratching his fingers through his beard and looking like he wants to say something.

“What, baby?” Hank presses him.

“Nothing,” Connor says quickly. “Sorry, I’m just...preconstructing.”

“Preconstructing what?”

Connor pulls away from him and walks into the living room, LED spinning yellow as he calls Markus, although he does turn to look at Hank over his shoulder and fucking wink at him as he goes.

And Hank is torn between thinking he’s too old for this and that he feels younger than he has in a very long time.

He doesn’t always go outside with Sumo now that he has a fenced-in hard, but he does tonight. The fresh air is nice, and he wants to give Connor the space to talk to Markus privately. He sits on his deck, and he thinks of spending endless summer nights out here with Connor, of getting a fire pit and finally using his grill again, of maybe having friends over for Connor’s birthday in August...

The thing about depression, Hank has learned, is that you don’t always see its effects until its hold on you has lessened. He never realized how little time he spent thinking about the future after losing Cole, never thought consciously about how he couldn’t envision any sort of life for himself anymore, and certainly not any kind of happiness. 

Which is why moments like this mean so much now. They’re mundane thoughts about what could be, but entirely remarkable because Hank is having them at all.

Hank waits outside until Connor joins him a few minutes later, slipping himself into Hank’s lap and kissing him when Hank wraps his arm around him.

“What are you thinking about?” Connor asks softly, and Hank strokes his thumb over his cheek.

“Just about things we could do this summer.”

And maybe Connor realizes how significant that is, or maybe he doesn’t - and even if he doesn’t in this moment, Hank still knows that he understands. Neither one of them was supposed to have a future, after all, and certainly not one that felt worth living.

“Funny,” Connor says wryly, squeezing the back of Hank’s neck. “Here I was just thinking about the things we could do tonight.”

Hank’s mouth is dry as Connor shifts in his lap. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “We should go back inside, I think. So I can show you.”

Hank has never been so insistent about calling Sumo back to the house in all his life. 

When Hank first started to think of Connor like this, of the two of them together, he always wondered if the physical part of it would be awkward. And it is, sort of it, but in a good, comfortable way - in a way that has both of them laughing when they get back inside and just stand there for a moment, both of them waiting to follow the other’s lead, and a way that makes it okay when they’re both plainly aware as they get upstairs that Connor has never been in Hank’s bedroom for more than a few moments before.

Part of why Hank hasn’t seriously pursued dating in the last year is that he’s spent so much of that time not feeling good about himself - not even in an active, harmful way, but just a faint, ever-present ache. It’s been a long time since he felt desirable in any way, least of all physically.

And there’s still some of that here, too - he’s so much better than he was, but those years of self-loathing still weigh on Hank sometimes, and that feeling wasn’t going to go away just because he loves Connor more than he’s ever loved anyone.

But Hank thinks he sees some of that same uncertainty in Connor, too, as they lie back on Hank’s bed together and kiss, slow and languid. Connor hasn’t felt any more wanted than Hank has - or at least, he hasn’t been wanted in the way he wants to be, for what he is.

So...it is awkward. Just a bit. But that’s okay, Hank thinks. It’s good, even. 

Because it’s hard for him to feel desirable even still, but it’s so fucking easy to love Connor, and to want him, and to focus on him, and he thinks maybe Connor is the same with him...that both of them care so much about taking care of the other that it doesn’t leave much room to dwell on that self-doubt about themselves, even if of course it’s still mending and isn’t entirely healed for either of them yet.

Connor unbuttons Hank’s shirt far enough that he can slip his hand inside, laying it over his heart, and Hank feels smooth plastic against his skin. He takes Connor by the wrist and pulls his hand out so he can look at the exposed chassis on his palm. Connor watches him, and Hank kisses his forehead and says, “You tried to interface before. At Eden Club. That’s what you’re doing, right?”

It’s an involuntary reaction to intimacy that androids have sometimes, Hank knows - he looked it up after he saw Connor doing it a few times - and he’s endlessly flattered, in a way that almost makes his heart ache.

But as Connor slips his hand back into Hank’s shirt, the plastic of his chassis warm against Hank’s skin, he just smiles and says, “I  _ am _ interfacing, actually.”

Hank blinks, confused. “What?” 

“It’s not exactly the same, but the electrical synapses of your heart still create a sort of feedback when I open an interface relay.” Connor meets his eyes, and he looks like he loves him. “I discovered it accidentally, the first time you kissed me.”

Hank doesn’t even have it in him to jokingly say that’s creepy. He’s too overwhelmed to do anything, really, except to pull Connor into his lap and kiss him again.

Connor gets insistent after that, which...doesn’t surprise Hank at all, actually, given all of their time together. Connor takes a hold of Hank’s shirt and uses the fistful of fabric to make him sit up far enough that he can unbutton it the rest of the way and push it off Hank’s shoulders. He kisses his neck, and his chest, exploring him with his mouth, and the thought does occur to Hank that Connor is probably analyzing his sweat or something like that, but he doesn’t even care. Connor keeps his bare palm over Hank’s heart the whole time, and the cool plastic becomes its own source of warmth and comfort.

“The last time we were at Eden Club,” Hank says, which gets Connor to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to fuck you.”

Connor smirks at that. “I mean...you sort of did.”

“You know what I mean.”

Connor trails his hand over Hank’s side, the curve of his stomach, like he’s trying to map the shape of him. “I wanted your cock in my mouth,” he says, earnest and thoughtful.

It’s not something Hank wants to say no to, but he sits up anyway and puts his hands on Connor’s face. “What do you want now?” he asks softly.

Connor smiles and presses a kiss to his mouth. “I think we’re both too tired for what I want.”

Hank shrugs. “We have tomorrow off.” He squeezes Connor’s hand. “Tell me. I want to take care of you.”

Connor still struggles - still, after all this time - with talking about what he wants. Hank knows that. Connor would still be in Canada if Hank hadn’t pressed him into admitting that he wanted to come home, which is why it means so much more when Connor threads his fingers in Hank’s hair and whispers, “I want you in my wires again.”

Hank presses a finger to the port he’s well acquainted with at the back of Connor’s neck, smiling at the low whine it earns him. “Like this?”

Connor shudders, nodding. “I want to redo that night the right way. I want you to be able to touch me the way you want, and to fuck me, and I want to be able to taste you...”

Hank kisses him, and if it’s a little messy and a touch desperate, neither of them care. He tugs at the hem of Connor’s sweatshirt and says, “Take this off for me, baby.”

Connor does, tossing it aside, and Hank doesn’t know how, but he forgot that Connor was still wearing that lingerie underneath. He slips a finger under the strap of the bralette and pulls Connor back to him, and Connor says, “Can I tell you something else?”

Hank maneuvers Connor in his lap so he can help him out of his jeans. “Yeah,” he says, kissing Connor’s jaw and smiling when Connor wraps his arms around his neck.

“I bought you some things when I went shopping, too.”

“Some things like...?”

Connor shrugs, pleased with himself. “You did offer to be the one wearing the pretty things. I’m just taking you up on it.”

“Hey,” Hank says, “I aim to please.”

It’s nice, being wanted, Hank decides all at once. It clashes with the perception of himself he’s carried for so long, but in a good way, a good sort of discomfort - the kind that feels like growth.

Connor is apparently too impatient to make Hank try anything on tonight, though, because he pushes Hank’s pants off, and then his boxers. He’s not nearly as clinical about looking him over as Hank might have thought he would be, instead immediately wrapping a hand around Hank’s cock and stroking experimentally.

“Fuck,” Hank breathes, and Connor moves down the length of his body to press a kiss to his hip.

“Love you,” Connor whispers, and he reaches for Hank’s hand, threading their fingers together before he takes the head of his cock between his lips, running his tongue over him and brazenly tasting him.

It’s a small miracle Hank doesn’t go off like a shot then and there, all things considered. It’s unlike any head he’s ever gotten in his life, mostly because no one else who’s ever done this had a mouth worth millions of dollars that they were intent on putting to good use. Connor is much less interested in setting a rhythm than he is in mapping Hank’s size and shape with his lips and his tongue, very earnestly trying to taste every part of him. Hank slips his fingers into Connor’s hair, gripping it tentatively, and then pulling a bit when he feels Connor’s moan vibrate through him.

Connor pulls off of him, propping his cheek on Hank’s thigh and smiling at him. He dips two of his own fingers into his mouth, sucking on them until they’re spit-slick when he holds them up for Hank to see.

Hank doesn’t even know what he’s doing, but it’s mesmerizing anyway.

“Do you like being penetrated?” Connor asks.

And  _ that’s _ a question that Hank’s brain, already running sluggish and stupid as he tries to take all of this in, isn’t equipped to process. “What?” he asks weakly.

Connor tilts his head, patient, and then he slips Hank’s cock into his mouth again, briefly, like...fuck, like he missed having it there, or something. “It’s okay if you don’t,” he says when he pulls back again. “But I thought I could, maybe, while I suck you off. If you did.”

“I mean,” Hank says, “yeah, I do, but it’s been...fuck, baby, it’s been a really long time since I did any of this, and I don’t…”

Connor blinks at him, confused. “Are you worried about coming too quickly?” Hank stares at him pointedly, and Connor says, “You are, aren’t you?”

“I just want to be able to do some of the other shit, too. You know? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Connor keeps staring at him like he doesn’t entirely understand, and Hank sighs, because his pride is getting the better of him, and because they have all night. They have so much time for him to collect himself and recover so they can go another round, and even if it doesn’t happen tonight, it can happen...god, it can happen whenever.

They have  _ so much _ time, and maybe Hank has just forgotten, a little bit, how to act like it...not just like  _ they _ have time, but like  _ he _ does.

“Hey,” Hank says, pushing his fingers through Connor’s hair. “I want you to do whatever you want, okay?”

Connor’s face softens, and he shifts so he can kiss Hank again before he returns to his task.

He’s diligent about it, and a quick learner, and it’s so distinctly unlike any sex Hank has ever had with a human and so much better for all the ways that Connor is set apart and beautifully different. He presses his bare palm to Hank’s heart again, and he uses that feedback data to chase everything that makes Hank’s pulse flare, and when he runs his spit-slick fingers around Hank’s hole and then presses them inside, it only takes him crooking them inside him twice before Hank is twisting his fingers in Connor’s hair and coming down his throat.

He feels Connor swallow - it makes sense that he can since he can drink, but Hank is still going to think about this new information for days - and then Connor stays there a bit longer, holding him in his warm mouth as he softens.

Hank loses track of time - it’s like floating in warm water or maybe even being enveloped by it, having Connor wrapped around him like this. He feels warm and heady and content by the time Connor finally slips his fingers from inside him and lifts himself from his cock.

And the thing is, Hank was being precious about it, but it doesn’t feel ruined at all for being quick or imperfect. Connor still slips himself under Hank’s arm and kisses the corner of his mouth as he curls up against him, and he looks peaceful when Hank glances down at him as he absently runs his fingers through the grey hair on Hank’s chest.

“Fuck,” Hank breathes, and Connor huffs a soft laugh against him, turning his face into his chest.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for years,” he says softly.

“Years?” Hank says, and Connor smiles.

“I told you I’ve always loved you. I just...I’m different now than I was then. I know more, so it means more now. But it’s always been true.”

Hank reaches for him, trying to pull him in, but Connor is one step ahead of him, already moving to kiss him. Hank feels tears pricking his eyes, but it’s that good sort of ache again.

Connor smiles softly at him when they part. “You’re so good,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against Hank’s.

“You’re good,” Hank says. It sounds a bit like it’s been punched out of him - he’s still catching his breath - but Connor preens under the praise anyway. 

Connor lets Hank recover - he seems content enough to lie there without demanding anything, one arm draped over Hank’s stomach as he traces his fingers idly over his skin - but he has one leg fitted between Hank’s, and Hank can feel him, hard against his hip where he occasionally rocks into him, and that’s a potent, heady thing. Hank opens Connor’s neck port, dipping his fingers inside and tracing them over the bundle of wires, and Connor stiffens against him, body coiled tight under Hank’s fingers.

Hank kisses his forehead. “Come here,” he says, shifting so he can lie back against the pillows propped against the headboard and pull Connor back into him instead, wrapping an arm tight around him.

“Hank,” Connor breathes when Hank slips his fingers back into his neck port, shifting a little when Hank uses a firmer touch stroking over his wires.

Hank kisses his LED where it spins yellow against his temple and looks at the line of Connor’s cock pressed against the underwear he’s wearing. He smooths Connor’s hair back from his forehead and twists one of those thin sensory relay wires around his little finger so he can give it a gentle tug.

“Do you want to know what else I was thinking about at Eden Club?” Hank asks in Connor’s ear, and Connor nods against him, a touch frantic. Hank loves that, how sensitive his wires are, how responsive it makes him. Hell of an ego boost.

“What?” Connor asks, voice tight.

Hank smiles against Connor’s temple. “How badly I wanted to touch you,” he says, and then he presses the heel of his hand against Connor’s cock through his underwear, “here.”

Hank can hear Connor swallow before he says, “I wanted you to.” He still has that wire wrapped around his little finger, so he tugs on it again, marveling at the way Connor’s back arches in response, the way he rocks his hips up into Hank’s hand.

Hank can feel him through the leather of his underwear, but he still does exactly what he wanted to do at the club, which is to slip his hand under the waistband of Connor’s underwear and wrap a hand around him.

“Fuck,” Connor breathes. “Hank...”

“I know, baby,” Hank says, mouth brushing his hairline where Connor’s head is lolling back against Hank’s shoulder. “You feel so good.”

Without Hank prompting him, Connor suddenly reaches down and pushes his underwear halfway down his thighs, like he’s frustrated by anything hindering them, and Hank really isn’t about to argue. He wants to see him.

And Connor is beautiful, hair hanging over his forehead, bralette disheveled and pulled to the side so Hank can easily run his thumb over one peaked nipple. His cock lies flushed and pretty against his stomach, and Hank loves that, too - not just because the sight alone has been the subject of a number of his fantasies ever since he read those goddamn maintenance records, but because he loves that Connor wanted the upgrade for himself. This feels like more a privilege because of that, knowing it was something Connor did independently of him, and not because of him.

Hank doesn’t touch him much beyond that, at least for the moment - he might not have the stamina to fuck Connor for an extended period of time, but he can absolutely tease him instead. And he loves teasing him - he loves that pinched look Connor gets on his face, the way he pouts first and then gets demanding, the way Hank is always acutely aware that he’s only doing any of this because Connor is letting him, putting himself in Hank’s hands and trusting him no matter how he might protest Hank taking his time.

And Hank has only gotten to experience this at Eden Club, under less than favorable circumstances, when he had to say things he didn’t mean, so of course he wants to experience it again now.

So what he does instead is reach for the waistband of Connor’s underwear, pulling them the rest of the way from his bent legs before he shifts Connor forward and unclamps his bralette to push it from his shoulders. The lingerie is pretty, of course, and Connor looks as hot in it as he does in anything, but Hank thinks he looks most beautiful like this, in nothing.

Hank tilts Connor’s head up so he can kiss him, trying to tell him exactly that. The metal ring around Connor’s thirium pump is cool under his hand, and Connor’s tongue slides over his in a messy embrace, but because Connor can never help his impatience, he also nips at Hank’s lip a few moments later.

Hank twists his fingers around Connor’s wires again and whispers, “Be good,” into his hairline.

It’s the same thing he said at Eden Club, but unlike Eden Club, Connor twists to bite the lobe of Hank’s ear and breathe, “No.”

Hank grins and reaches down to wrap a hand around Connor’s cock again - his skin is velvet soft when Hank gives him a slow stroke and caresses his wires again, and that must be enough to placate him for now, because Connor sighs against him, content, despite the way he bucks his hips up like he’s seeking more friction and the little whine that escapes him when Hank presses his fingers deeper into his neck port.

Hank catches sight of Connor’s wedding ring when Connor grasps his thigh, and he still can’t believe this is his husband. He really can’t. He’s spent so many years thinking his luck is shit, but for the last month, he’s felt so fucking lucky anyway.

“I love you,” he says to Connor again, because he never wants to stop saying it. It comes so easy.

“I...” Connor starts, although his voice breaks around a moan and he has to settle for grabbing Hank’s wrist and squeezing, trying to tell Hank that way instead.

Hank kisses his hair and softly says, “I know you do, baby,” and that’s honestly just fucking incredible, isn’t it, that he  _ knows _ , despite years of wallowing in self-loathing, despite the fact that it’s been so long since he felt like he was good enough for anyone or deserving of anything, despite the knowledge that those bad feelings will surely creep back up from time to time as they do.

He still knows. 

It means as much to be able to say that and mean it as it does to hear it from Connor, and Hank rewards Connor for it by taking one of the thicker wires deeper in his neck port between his fingers and rolling it between them until it heats and Connor’s breaths are coming hard and fast against him as he tries to regulate his temperature.

It’s the same as Eden Club - Hank doesn’t let up even when he can feel the heat from the wires he’s twisting. They’re not hot enough to burn yet, just a slight discomfort, and so it’s just another ego boost.

“Do you want to come?” he asks against Connor’s hairline, and Connor manages to shoot him such a deadpan look that Hank would laugh outright if he wasn’t pumping Connor’s perfect cock in his hand.

“Obviously,” Connor says, managing a dry tone despite the breathy note in his voice, and now Hank does laugh, and he realizes all at once that it’s been forever since he laughed in bed with anyone, since things were that quiet and comfortable between him and someone else, without any pretenses. 

And that’s beautiful, too.

He kisses Connor’s temple and says, “Whatever you want, honey,” and then he catches a few more wires between his fingers, stroking them in time with his hand between Connor’s legs and twisting his wrist so he can dip in further with a free finger, fitting his fingertip into the notch of Connor’s spine.

Connor comes into Hank’s hand with a weak cry, sagging back against Hank’s chest, stomach muscles twitching as he recovers. Hank lifts his wet hand where he can see the faint metallic sheen to it, and Connor watches him, breathing heavily as he tries to recover, as Hank once again lifts it to his mouth and tastes it.

“Weird?” Connor asks softly, voice ragged with static, and Hank shakes his head, kissing him.

“No,” he says.

They lie like that for a while, Connor drawn back against Hank’s chest, their arms around each other, basking in everything bright and beautiful around them. Hank is sweated and Connor isn’t, but Connor also doesn’t seem to mind at all, nestling himself closer to him.

It’s nice, not being in a rush, even if Hank’s cock still eventually gives an interested twist as Connor shifts against him.

“Do you still want to...” Hank starts, although Connor shifts so Hank can see him roll his eyes, rocking the cleft of his ass against Hank’s hardening cock in the process.

“Obviously,” he says softly. “If you do.”

Hank smiles. “Obviously I do.”

He reluctantly shifts Connor’s weight from him - it’s to get them in a better position, one where he can see Connor’s face, but a moment with the absence of Connor’s warmth still feels like a moment too long. He presses Connor onto his back and smiles when Connor’s fingers dig into his arms as he immediately tries to pull him closer again.

Hank kisses Connor’s jaw as he settles over him, and Connor sighs, hooking a leg over Hank’s hips and arching into him. And Hank is absolutely ready to go again, but he still moves down the length of Connor’s body, taking a nipple between his teeth as he goes, and then settling between Connor’s legs.

“Hank...” Connor whines, and he might as well say, “Please fuck me,” for how clearly Hank hears it in his voice.

Hank just smiles, sucking at the inside of Connor’s thigh until his synthskin recedes in one of those weird white android hickies, and then he fits a hand under Connor’s thigh and pushes his leg up, pressing him back so Connor’s hips are lifted slightly from the mattress. Hank can see that bit of artificial slick around Connor’s rim, and he’s desperate to taste him...

So that’s what he does.

He licks a filthy stripe over him, and then thumbs Connor’s hole open and presses his tongue into him, and Connor shouts around the fist he’s biting down on and slams a hand into the headboard, which is a good enough endorsement in Hank’s opinion.

He doesn’t tease him long - he can’t, because frankly he’s worried about coming again just from rocking involuntarily into the sheets. Connor’s grip on his hair is tight to the point of pain when Hank pulls away from him and lets his leg fall back to the mattress, and though he doesn’t mind things a little rough, he still pulls Connor’s hand free and kisses his palm.

Connor looks down at him with parted lips and wide eyes when he does. Hank watches him trying to catch his breath for a moment, tracing his finger around his thirium pump and feeling it thrum under his hand.

But Connor is never one to be outdone, because he swallows hard and softly says, “Can I ride you?”

Hank presses another kiss to Connor’s belly. “Sure, sweetheart,” he says, because god, what else would he possibly say?

Connor smiles and sits up far enough that he can push Hank onto his back and climb astride his hips, rocking his cock against Hank’s and running his fingers over his chest. “You’re so beautiful,” he says softly.

The wildest thing? Hank believes him.

Connor reaches for Hank’s hand and winds their fingers together, and he folds so he can kiss him as he sinks down onto his cock and Hank ruts his hips up to meet him.

“Fuck,” Connor whispers when they part, which are Hank’s thoughts exactly.

Connor is always the curious sort, and so it maybe shouldn’t surprise Hank that for a long moment he just sits there astride Hank’s hips, head canted and lips parted, like he’s considering the sensation, the way Hank is filling him. And Hank likes this, honestly, being able to watch that play of emotions over his face, to smooth his hands up Connor’s thighs and over the curves of his hips as they both experience this. It feels new and familiar all at once, and when Connor pulls the synthskin back on his palm and presses his hand over Hank’s heart again, that just about breaks him.

“Baby,” Hank says, and Connor kisses him before he can get anything else out, threading their fingers together and using that hold on Hank’s hands to steady himself when he rolls his hips forward.

There’s something about that that’s poetic, too, even if Hank doesn’t always have a mind for that sort of thing - Connor in control, Connor as bright and beautiful as he ever is, but still inextricably tied with Hank, leaning on him, using him as a foundation.

Hank squeezes Connor’s hand when he moans, voice filled with static, and then he reaches for him, smoothing a hand down his belly and wrapping a hand around his cock, stroking him in time with Connor’s hips rolling against his.

And that gets a fucking gorgeous reaction out of him - Connor whines, a distinctly inhuman sound, and folds in on Hank, overwhelmed. It takes some effort, and his hip protests a bit, but Hank sits up to meet him halfway so Connor can thread his arms around his neck and more comfortably lean against him as he rocks down into him. Connor’s fingers are tight in his hair when Hank runs his thumb over the head of his cock, when he reaches around Connor’s back to feel Connor’s slick skin stretched around him where they’re joined together. Connor’s LED is cycling between yellow and red, and his breath is hot as he pants against Hank’s sweated skin, but he never stops moving against him, not until he’s coming in Hank’s hand again and Hank has to wrap an arm around his hips to pull him down on his cock once and then twice more.

Connor sucks at his pulse point and then bites Hank’s shoulder, and that’s the thing that does it, that has Hank coming inside him. Connor whines, sagging against him, and Hank feels the smooth plastic of Connor’s palm against his chest again - he’s already becoming attached to that, if he’s being honest.

He kisses Connor’s temple and smooths his fingers through his hair, wrapping his arms around him and lying back on the bed, keeping Connor folded into his chest. He’s still inside him, but Connor doesn’t make any effort to pull away, and Hank is happy enough to stay.

He traces his fingers over Connor’s back as he catches his breath. “Love you, baby,” he whispers, and Connor tucks his forehead into Hank’s shoulder, nodding against him.

“I love you,” he says softly. There’s still a bit of static in his voice, but it’s slowly regulating itself. He’s quiet for a moment, but then he adds, “You’re my husband,” and Hank can hear him smiling.

He sounds proud, and that does so much to Hank’s heart he doesn’t even know what to say.

So he just laughs and holds him just the smallest bit closer. “You’re mine.”

They stay like that, tangled up in each other, for long enough that Hank dozes off, drifting in and out. He does eventually shift Connor to his side so he can pull the covers up over them, and Connor makes a sweet, sleepy noise when Hank wraps his arms around him and pulls him back into him and kisses his hair.

Hank falls asleep with his arms around Connor and Connor holding him, the two of them keeping each other close, holding each other together.

Life is good, Hank thinks. For now, for once, it’s good.

And that’s such a simple thing, but it’s everything.

* * *

Connor wakes up first the next morning, but he barely opens his eyes when he does, just tucks himself in closer to Hank and stays at his side. Hank takes much longer about it after the late night, although when Connor kisses the corner of his mouth a few hours later, he does shift against him, groggily opening his eyes.

“Hi,” Connor says, and he loves the sleepy smile it earns him as Hank reaches up to card his fingers through his hair.

“Hey, baby.”

Connor props his chin on Hank’s chest. “Can I sleep in here going forward?”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Your room, too. I’ll clean out the second closet so you can use it.”

It’s such a little thing, but they’re all little things, the tapestry of moments when he’s fallen in love with Hank. They’re the ones that matter most to Connor.

They get up eventually, and they shower together - they take much longer for it, because of course neither one of them can quite help wanting to get their mouth on the other, but they have the day off, so it doesn’t affect anything. Connor lets Sumo out while Hank makes coffee, and when they’re sitting on the couch together, he says, “I should call Rose about Sam and Madeline.”

Hank reaches for Connor’s hand, and Connor laces their fingers together before he dials Rose’s number.

And of course she’s willing to help. Resources in Canada, support groups and shelters and employment programs, have only grown over the years, thanks in large part to advocates like her, and though things aren’t perfect yet, they are better.

The next day, once Sam and Madeline have been fully repaired by programmers and technicians, Hank and Connor load Sumo into the car with them, and they drive the two androids across the border, to Rose’s house. Kara, Luther, and Alice meet them there, and they help Sam and Madeline get set up in their room while Alice plays with Sumo. Luther has temporary employment arranged for them at the construction company he manages, and Kara tells them she’ll take them shopping the next day and buy them a few things - a starter wardrobe, some decorations for their room.

Sam and Madeline are still plainly overwhelmed by all of this, still unsure whether they’ll be any better off here than they were in America, but seeing Kara and Luther so obviously thriving seems to help.

Connor hasn’t had the time to tell Kara and Luther about Hank yet, not beyond what came up during his last conversation with Kara, but he also isn’t shy about slipping his hand into Hank’s and leaning into him as they talk outside Rose’s house, and he knows they both notice.

“Should we go out while you’re here?” Kara asks. “Do you have time?”

Connor looks at Hank, who says, “Yeah. We have time.”

“Thiri-Yum for old times’ sake?” Luther asks, smiling.

Connor squeezes Hank’s hand. “We’ll meet you there.”

Hank claps Connor’s hip as they turn back to their car, and Connor knows Kara and Luther probably saw that, too.

He’s not surprised when Kara texts him during the drive. “So,” it says. “How’s that green card marriage going? Still fake?”

Connor can’t stop the grin on his face. “I think it’s going to stick, actually.”

“I thought maybe it was going to, too,” Kara writes back. “I hope you know you owe me the details later. Happy for you, Con.”

Hank slots into Connor’s old life easily, but of course he does. They sit outside Thiri-Yum with Sumo at their feet and Alice occasionally slipping him a treat or two, and Connor thinks about that bit of restlessness that used to exist inside him, ever-present, how he loved so much of his life in Canada but it never felt like enough.

This feels like enough. His best friends, and Hank’s hand on his leg...it’s enough.

All that time, he was just missing a piece.

They have a good time together, and they make plans to visit again soon, and then Hank and Connor go home. They sit on the couch, much closer than they used to, and Hank drops his arm from the back of the sofa onto Connor’s shoulders, and Connor feels like they’ve done some good, both for themselves and for the victims of the trafficking ring. 

It feels good.

They go out with Jeff, Chris, and Tina the next evening to celebrate closing the case - to dinner, at Connor’s quiet request, so it’s something nicer for Hank than just drinking soda at a bar. They’re as reserved with their work colleagues as they ever are, but that doesn’t stop Hank looking at him like Connor is the most incredible thing in the world.

Chris gets tipsy enough to say, “Don’t get mad, but we thought you two were faking your marriage so Connor could come back to work. We had a _ bet _ ...,” which makes Tina hush him loudly and Jeff choke on his drink while Hank just looks at Connor and smiles as he shrugs.

“What was the bet?” Connor asks, winking at Hank when he does.

One day, maybe, they’ll tell Chris and Tina the whole story. But for now, this is okay.

Hank and Connor do take a long weekend, one of the last chilly ones before spring, to rent a cabin with Sumo, and they cuddle in front of the fireplace late into the night and fuck without any rush, their movements slow and languid, in the early morning hours.

It’s Connor’s first vacation, although when he tells Hank as much, Hank says, “This isn’t a vacation, I don’t think. It’s a trip.”

“Is there a difference?”

“A vacation would be if we took a week off to go somewhere nice for our honeymoon. Something bigger, like the beach, or Europe, or something.”

And that’s when it occurs to Connor that he has a passport now. He’s so used to being restricted that all the places they could go never occurred to him.

“Should we go on a honeymoon?” Connor asks, and Hank wraps an arm around him and kisses his forehead.

“Yeah. I think we should.”

It’s the conversation that prompts others as they try to parse what parts of the first month of marriage they missed that they want to do together. The day they get back from the lake, Hank asks Connor if he wants to have a “real” wedding ceremony.

“We could play it off like we’re trying to let our friends here be a part of it, too,” Hank says, although he doesn’t quite finish the thought before Connor shuts him up by kissing him.

“If you want to,” he says, “but our wedding was real to me.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “Me too.”

Connor moves his clothes into the second closet in Hank’s bedroom -  _ their _ bedroom - although it’s a slow process over the next few weeks, and they convert the second bedroom into a guest room instead. Markus says they’re close to passing legislation allowing Canadian android residents to travel to the U.S. - legislation that’s only being discussed at all because of the leverage from the trafficking ring Connor passed along. And maybe Connor is being optimistic, but it’s still nice, the thought that Kara, Luther, and Alice might be able to visit soon.

There’s other progress being made, too - it will be a few months before any of the bills are passed, but there’s grant funding being considered to help set up support structures for androids similar to what Canada has in place. It won’t solve the problem instantly, won’t take away the discomfort some of them feel without their programming that the trafficking ring preyed on, but in Connor’s experience, it might help.

So...things are good as the weeks and months pass. They have friends over for a joint birthday party for Connor and Hank at the end of August, and work is going well, and they’re still happily married. There are days when some of their old ghosts come for them, for Hank and Connor both, days that hurt, but that’s part of it, Connor knows, and they weather those days together. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s worth it.

It’s always worth it.

Connor feels settled right up until the leaders of the trafficking ring are sentenced. He and Hank actually forget about it - they’re busy at work, so they don’t hear about it until news starts hitting a few hours later.

“Two years,” Connor says to Hank that night. “Robinson swayed twenty-three androids into signing themselves over to that ring, and they only gave him two years.”

Hank is more jaded than Connor is, because he says, “We knew it was going to be a hard case when the androids agreed to what was done to them.” He passes Connor a drink and sits down beside him, searching his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Connor says. “They still modified their programming. They still sold them.”

“I know, baby.”

“It’s just...what good is it for us to do good work if it’s just going to get fucked up later?”

“Yeah, well. That’s the justice system for you.”

Hank really is more jaded than Connor, because he says it like it’s just...part of the job. “Hank,” Connor says pointedly.

That’s all he has to say for Hank’s face to soften when he looks up at him. “Sorry,” he says. “I guess you get used to it. Men like Robinson and his friends don’t do hard time unless the case is airtight, and with the androids agreeing to what happened, this one wasn’t.”

Connor doesn’t want to get used to it. “You’re okay with that?” he asks softly.

“Of course not,” Hank says. “Just not much we can do.”

It does set off another thought process in Connor. It makes him wonder if the question should be what they’re willing to be a part of instead of what they can do in their current positions. It’s just a seed of a thought right now, but...well. Connor spent so much time thinking he was dissatisfied because of his work in Canada, that coming back to the DPD would make him feel more fulfilled, but he was wrong about that. It was always Hank, and never the work.

Which means, in theory, that they could do anything.

It takes him a few weeks of mulling that over to mention it to Hank. When he does, one morning while Hank is making coffee, he says, “Would you ever consider doing anything else for work?”

Hank shrugs. “Probably. I mean...I don’t always know why I came back to the DPD after the revolution. It was just what I knew, I guess, and it’s been better with you there.” He studies Connor. “You want to do something else?”

“Maybe,” Connor says. “It’s just...we’re good at what we do, and we’re good partners, and I wonder if we could be doing more good somewhere else.”

Hank considers that. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe we could.”

It doesn’t go any further than those few words that morning, but it’s okay. They have time to figure things out, plenty of time to do good.

That weekend, they drive up to visit Kara and Luther in Canada. They cross the border, and Connor thinks of the first time Hank drove him up here after the revolution, how badly he didn’t want to leave him.

And maybe Hank is thinking the same, because when Connor looks over at him, Hank is already reaching for his hand, a reminder that he’s there.

Connor takes it and laces their fingers together, but the thing is, it doesn’t hurt. That time apart was terrible, but remembering it doesn’t hurt. He wonders sometimes how he and Hank would be different if it hadn’t happened that way - he wonders if they would have happened at all.

And maybe they would have, but Connor likes their story, thinks everything that wrote it this way was good, even the parts that weren’t.

That’s the thing about Hank, about getting back to him, about having a future with him, tomorrow and the next day and the next. Every moment with him has been a good thing.

Connor looks over at Hank with a smile, and Hank looks back at him, and the words don’t need to be said, and it’s good.

Everything is good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to go through my comment inbox and reply to everyone in the next few days - I've let that get away from me again during all the craziness that is 2020, but if you've left me kind words over the last few weeks, on this story or any other, please know you've made my day and I really appreciate you! ❤️
> 
> You can find me on:  
> [Twitter](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean)   
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> Come chat with me, and thank you for reading!


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